by Lydia Millet
—A vendor just dove off the pier, she said to the biker. He unballed his fists and wiped his eyes with his knuckles.
—The water’s shallow, he said. —Families swimming, back near the shore there. In the chemical soup. Mexicans. They’re the only people that swim here. Can’t read.
—The water’s shallow, echoed Alice, leaning over to look down. She saw a faint ring of wake spread out and disappear.
—See, said the biker, starting to cry again. —Call me a fool, I don’t care. But I swear, he was my best friend.
7:51
Mr. Alan had a nice watch. It fit onto her ankle. She stuffed her clothes in Mr. Alan’s briefcase and wore his big shirt and rolled-up jeans out the door. Going down the steps she skipped. It never happened at all! The whole thing was just one big mirage in the Sahara desert. And now it was over. 89751 divided by 1.82 = 49313.736. Square root of 47813 = 218.66183. Start all over again with the basic stuff.
Someone’s sprinkler was going back and forth, wetting the sidewalk and making it clean.
8:06
—You are missing my point, said Phillip to the desk sergeant. —This vehicle rear-ended my car while it was parked. My car sustained substantial damages!
—Yeah we’ll look into it.
They pushed him in front of them, past the desk. Bars!
—My Lord! You can’t put me in there!
—Just a holding cell guy. You won’t be in here for long.
Phillip struggled, but they had grips of steel. Criminals unbathed and likely unvaccinated stood shoulder to shoulder, exchanging parasites. The bacteria coagulated on their flesh, swam long and whip-tailed on the surface of mucous membranes. Incarcerated men performed acts of sodomy and violation, passed along terminal illness through their pustulent orifices. They lay with each other in sin. He would not go in. He would not permit it. His face was hot, flashes of pressure on his temples. His hands shook.
—An attorney!
—Soon guy, soon. Little busy right now.
—No please, whimpered Phillip as they unlocked the cage door. —No please no please no please. . . .
—Goddammit he’s passing out there. Don’t let him fall they’ll charge our asses with brutality.
8:13
—How was it Ken? Dynamic tension there? You know what I say Ken, a handjob a day keeps the doctor away.
—The lady was Chinese or something.
—Asian I know Ken, the name of the place was a tipoff. Don’t you like ’em Ken? No taste for the cultures of the Far East?
—They eat dogs.
—Well we all have our little habits Ken, now don’t we. Next time it’ll be All American Burger, buddy, 100% U.S. Grade A prime beef. Would you like that better?
—Anyway she didn’t like me. She didn’t do anything Decetes, she just rubbed my back.
—Wait Ken, hold it a minute. Are you telling me we didn’t get our money’s worth my boy?
—Nothing Decetes, she made me lie on my front the whole time.
—Ken you go sit in the car. I’ll be back in a minute.
The receptionist looked wary when Decetes approached her. She had pink fingernails, long and curled.
—Leon B. Grossman. Young woman I wish to have a word with your supervisor.
—I am the supervisor.
—In that case I’ve got a bone to pick with you. My little friend out there did not get what I paid for.
—Just a moment. I’ll discuss it with the girl.
She went through a door behind her. Decetes inspected her desk while she was absent. On a pad she had written Wella Black Cherry 367 & Creme Developer.
—Sorry, but Kim was afraid she’d throw up. She’s just a trainee. Your friend’s not something we see every day.
—I will be reimbursed, in that case.
—Nope. We have a strict policy. Time is money.
—Listen young woman, I work in the magazine industry. Believe me, you don’t want a bad review.
—Your pathetic threat doesn’t impress me, but I tell you what. I’m too tired for hassles. How about a quick five-minute freebie for yourself and we’ll call it even.
—That will be satisfactory, said Decetes. —Not Kim though. I had her earlier today. Variety is the spice of life.
—All we have is Kims.
8:20
—I have to go home now, said Alice.
—Don’t go, said the biker. —Please.
—I’m sorry, said Alice. —It’s been a long day and all I wanted was a drink.
Walking back up to the beach she felt the night air sweep in behind her and blow her hair over her face. She recalled an instant of a dream, vague pink mountains in a desert that looked like the moon, and wished she could fly. A one-man wake for a bird. And yet that vendor, had her own eyes deceived her? He must be swimming, swimming underwater, dreaming of peace. Around him, swirling in the tide, ice-cream wrappers and spent balloons. A dream without anchors.
8:24
—Ginny! Jerry she’s home!
—Leave me alone you make me sick, said Ginny, and mounted the stairs to her room.
—But Ginny we were worried!
—Stop right there young lady and apologize to your mother. You’ve put her through a lot. And where’s the car?
—In the driveway, okay? I want some privacy for once or I’m leaving again and this time I won’t come back.
—Don’t talk that way to your mother.
—You didn’t see what she did. You weren’t there. She came right into class wearing her stupid housecoat and slippers. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me in my life so just shut up and leave me alone. I have to decide what to do.
—Ginny do not say shut up to your father.
—Riva just let her go. We’ll talk about it later.
Ginny took the rest of the stairs three at a time. Square root of 47962.15 = 219.00262, square root 14.798, square root 3.8469, square root 1.9613, square root 1.4.
—Riva? There’s a dwarf statuette in the outside garbage, Dopey or Grumpy or something, said her father. —And what the hell were you doing making a fool of yourself in public? You went to school in that piece-of-shit robe? No wonder she was goddamn traumatized.
8:30
—I made a healthy low-fat dinner since you’re on a diet. Soup and salad. Why don’t you just come sit down at the table and eat. I’m sure you’re hungry after all the excitement.
—It says dildos all sizes $29.99.
—Give me that! If I have to lock my brother’s file cabinet, I will.
—Can I have a glass of wine?
—I don’t want to be responsible for one of your little seizures like the other night. I didn’t want to mention it Barbara but my carpet had just been steam-cleaned. I don’t know about you but I for one am not made of money. I have to count my pennies! A penny saved is a penny earned. Anyway I have a more suitable book you can read, called The Book of Margery Kempe. It’s the spiritual diary of a woman who had seizures like yours, but she saw Jesus on many different occasions. I think you’ll find it encouraging. It shows how special people are often God’s dearest children. It’s one of my own inspirational favorites.
—Huh.
—Phillip mentioned that you like to study the mind of Christ.
—The mind of Christ is shitty.
8:42
—That’s settled Ken. I gave those Koreans the sharp side of my tongue. Never told you this Ken, but I fought in the Korean conflict. Speak the language fluently, like a native. Ho Chi Minh Ken. Those were the days Ken, we swooped down in our glorious silver machines Ken with white skin and blond hair and they thought we were gods. And we were Ken. Yes we were. Yours truly sowed his wild oats in the rice paddies Ken, drank American beer in the whorehouses Ken with pretty coffee-colored misses hanging off his arm.
—But don’t I get to go back in?
—The death and the glory Ken, I saw them fall Ken. My brothers in arms. Choppers over the jungle Ken, yellow fever
, malaria. Young boys dying in the marshes Ken, my brothers Ken, all my brothers. Their arms flung out Ken, their eyes open. Rain fell into their eyes Ken, rolled down their cheeks like tears. Rain fell heavy in the jungle Ken, the plants sweated and flowers burst forth, big flowers bright as fire. Once after the rain I thought I saw a flower Ken, a red flower on the wet frond of a fern. Went to pick it and wear it in my buttonhole but that was no flower Ken, that was the heart of a soldier. Those were the days Ken, death was our mother, our father and death was our child.
—So when do I get a handjob?
—Soon Ken soon. I gave those Kims the sharp side of my tongue Ken, you can lay money on that. Thankless my boy, the sacrifices we made and this is how they treat us now. The people of the world Ken, they have a short memory. I saw farmboys from Iowa give their lives for the Kims of this world, and now a lousy handjob is too much to ask. Ken, let us swing by the liquor store on our way home. Where’s the car Ken?
—Gone.
—No time for joking Ken, we have an evening of strategy before us. We will use coins as armies Ken, and give them free range across a map of the world. The War Room Ken, where generals gather with Cuban cigars to plot the downfall of Castro. No Ken, no time for kidding right now. Where’d you repark the Pinto my son?
—It was gone when I got here. You said wait in the car but I got here and it was gone. See there’s a Nissan in the space where it was, right there Decetes. Somebody musta lifted it.
8:53
—Ginny it’s time for us to have a little talk, said her mother at the dinner table.
They were eating late because they hadn’t eaten while they were waiting for her and then Ginny refused to come down right away and then her mother refused to eat if she wasn’t at the table and her father came up and said Can we please fucking eat so she had to go down. Otherwise she’d get one of his serious talks that were even worse than her mother’s because he thought he was being so hip and cool.
She concentrated on the salad, which was not as disgusting as the pot roast. Salad was normal, pot roast was not. Gross with white fat. They cut it off a cow that had intestines and everything plus a brain and eyeballs, gross gross gross.
—I will not have you having relations and getting abortions just because the other girls do it.
—Just let her eat Riva, Christ, said her father. —No wonder she didn’t want to come out of her room.
Ginny speared a leaf of iceberg lettuce, which was the safest food on her plate. She had to say it quick and get it over with. —I won’t go back to school, she said crunching the lettuce. —But I’ll go to that free program for geeks if you want.
—Ginny! gasped her mother and clasped her hands together. Her father left his mouth hanging open and his fork in midair.
9:03
Alice kicked off her shoes and opened the windows, shuffled junk mail, ALICE REEVE IS A $10,000,000 WINNER!, noticed the digital red 0 on her answering machine. Girls, parrots, vendors passed into the night. 000. Intangible. She would follow soon enough. One day floating near Jack the Sailor, unknowing as her molecules, now far away dispersed, were borne in waves toward the shores of Tahiti.
Her mother sat bereft in the hill country, watching TV. She sat there every night, unmoving. Alice used to be convinced that all she saw was colors dissolving and shapes that massed, separated and massed again.
Before she dialed she would have to have something to say. Something had to be known to be said, but she knew nothing save that she had nothing to say. Hated white walls. Hated her white curtains and white carpet. The phone rang.
—It’s Ernie your favorite dancing queen. Come out with us. Jerome has a crush on you.
9:16
They sat on the curb, their feet in the gutter. Ken knew the workings of the camcorder now: pre-production was complete.
—Here Ken, take a swig of that. What can it harm Ken, no birds on this street. Firewater. I know what you’re thinking Ken. You’re thinking this is a man who almost gave his life for America, and now he’s mounting a revolution. Is that what you were thinking Ken?
—I—
—This country, Ken, was great once. The land of the free Ken, the home of the brave. Therein lies the flaw Ken, the fatal flaw. Too free, Ken. Too brave.
—But—
—Yes Ken. Hoisted on its own petard. Free to buy Sony, Volkswagen and Mitsubishi Ken. Rape the land and poison the sea. Brave enough for Hiroshima Ken, and for Nagasaki.
—Gimme that.
A streetdweller, scabrous and stained, groped for Decetes’s paper bag. His blond dreadlocks swung against Decetes’s ear.
—Get outta here you bum. I’ll fuck him up Decetes.
—Now Ken, no need for weapons. Ken, put the knife away. Yes my good man, please forage for your beverages elsewhere. That’s a good man.
—See Decetes told you it would come in handy.
—Your first lesson Ken. The disenfranchised are our flock. Treat them kindly Ken, for they will be our corporals. Now Ken, I am treating you to an evening of the burlesque. It is a dying art Ken, but we will be present when it breathes its last.
Leon B. Grossman was a big spender, and generous to a fault.
9:24
Barbara was in Dean’s room with her assigned reading. She had instructions to read ten pages of The Book. Only ten because her reading skills were probably not so hot. Then she could go to bed. Bucella had encouraged her to bring along the little dog Arf Arf: it was a Security blanket.
Phillip hadn’t even called. No doubt he was out robbing savings bonds from Geriatrics. The note stuck to his fridge with a fruit magnet told him just what they thought of him. Bucella had written it herself, a rough draft first that was still in her purse.
“Dear” Phillip: Barbara is sick of your criminal habits (spying and Larceny) & in addition your Spousal Abuse. And Cruelty to Animals is also among your sins. Barbara likes pets and you have mistreated the Dog. Please Change your Ways, then she’ll come Home.
At least she had her car back.
9:51
—Yeah man, said the antique black man. Phillip stood patiently in the corner, his hands clasped formally. They had placed him in a cell with a thin, spindly African-American grandfather in torn painter’s overalls. He was, unfortunately, quite gregarious. —I was a singer man. I used to sing.
—I see, said Phillip.
—You know, all over the place, New Orleans, St. Louis, Chicago.
—I have never visited St. Louis myself, offered Phillip.
The man might be unstable, being a criminal and all. It was best to keep the conversation on an even keel. The eagles, unflappable, waited with their wings folded, weathering the storm.
—New Orleans there’s a city for you. Sang and played the harmonica too, said the old man, and doubled over suddenly holding his stomach.
—Are you ill? inquired Phillip politely. He would not offer assistance. It could be a ploy: the man might be a pickpocket or a confidence artist. He had read about their sly tricks.
He waited, scrutinizing the top of the ancient head. It was bald and shone like polished wood. Phillip recalled a cherry table in his aunt’s house, his aunt who had died of emphysema. When she was writing her will he had requested the table specifically, but she had left it to the Presbyterian church on the corner. So he had made the church a respectable offer for the table, which after all was pocked and scarred through many years of hard use, but they had sold it out from under him to a more foolhardy bidder.
His aunt had never even been a Presbyterian. She lived and died Episcopalian.
—No big deal man, said the old man. —It’s one of them ulcers I think they said. He acts up time to time that little devil, I don’t pay him no mind.
—A wise choice, said Phillip. —The body is an illusion. God works in the spirit.
—All right, crowed the little old man. —You said it.
10:07
—Dance with me, said Jerome.
—I prefer t
o drink, said Alice. —I’m better at it.
—You just like to watch, said Jerome.
10:14
—Here we are Ken, the promised land, said Decetes, tripping on the walkway. —Home from our epic voyage through the flesh. I am Odysseus!
—I gotta take a leak.
—The bushes are calling your name my boy. I see a lilac with the word toiletbowl written all over it.
Watching Ken amble toward the shrubbery, he realized he had a diplomatic rapprochement to perform. He had planned to stow Ken in the Pinto for the night, but the Pinto was AWOL. His cameraman must not be allowed to sneak away while he slept.
—Look lively Ken. Ken my man, didn’t you wash that parrot off your arm? I think I see some crusty brain there Ken. Use the garden hose at the side of the house. My sister is a neatnik.
—Yeah I like your sister, she’s got big bazooms, ventured Ken, shaking his tiny manfinger in the wind. Decetes could swear it was the size of a pinky. He stood clear.
—Ho Ken, slow down there Ken. My sister is not a sexual object. She is a female eunuch Ken.
—But—
—What can I tell you boy, sex and my sister just don’t go together. She’s trying to become a nun Ken, she reads up on the lives of saints and other hysterics. She saw a movie on Bravo with some good-looking French virgin nuns in it Ken, and ever since then she’s been trying to get Catholic. Wash yourself Ken, and wait outside while she and I discuss tonight’s arrangements.
In the living room Bucella was arranging House & Gardens into symmetrical stacks.
—If I may say so Bucella, your face is suffused with an inner light. When I came in Bucella I mistook you for the Madonna.
—What do you want Dean.
—Just Christian charity Bucella.
—What.
—You remember the small man with the unfortunate facial mole? You were introduced this morning?
—Not formally. And if that’s a mole the Taj Mahal is a condo.
—How cruel Bucella, you sound as bad as me. As the old me, Bucella. Not the new me. Because I’ll tell you the truth Bucella, I went to a meeting. AA. That’s where I met him.
She turned dumbfounded from the coffee table.
—You what?
—Yes Bucella. Alcoholics Anonymous. On Wilshire near Lincoln. Same time next week Bucella. Yes Bucella, it’s a damn good group of people. They’re fighters Bucella, and I respect them for that.