Far From Xanadu

by Julie Anne Peters

  “You mean instead of this?” He lassoed a curly fry in the air.

  She sipped on her Mistee. Sitting so close to her, the charged air between us made the hair on my arms stand up.

  Jamie tapped his chin. “Let’s see. Mike is into Internet porn.”

  I lunged across the table and slugged him in the chest.

  “Hey, owie.” He rubbed his pec. “Don’t damage the merch.”

  “You were damaged from birth,” I muttered.

  “You’re the one with hormone deficiency.”

  Xanadu laughed. “You are both so gay —” She stopped. She swiveled to face me. “I didn’t say that.”

  Jamie said, “Use it or lose it.” He flapped a limp wrist at her.

  I hated when he got this way. All show-offy, exhibitionist. He validated the stereotype. He played to it. Exhaling an irritated breath, I scooted out the end of the bench and said, “Anyone else want ketchup?”

  Jamie raised his hand. “I do. I do.”

  I bent his hand back until cartilage crunched.

  On my way to the gallon jug out front, I heard Xanadu say to Jamie, “Um, is it okay to talk about it?”

  “About what?” Jamie said. “Us being gay? It’s not like it’s a secret. Look at me. Am I flaming, or what?”

  Xanadu said, “I didn’t notice.”

  They both cracked up.

  As I scooted back in with a pee cup of ketchup, Xanadu smiled at me. I melted. She said, “So, the two of you...”

  “Coalton’s token ten percent of the population,” Jamie answered. He swirled a curly fry in the ketchup, adding, “One fag and one dyke. You couldn’t order it up any more predictable than that.”

  I glared at him. “Cram it.”

  “Oh, excuse me. Mike doesn’t like to admit she’s,” he cupped a hand to his mouth and mock-whispered to Xanadu, “queer.”

  “I don’t like labels,” I snapped. “Especially that one.”

  Xanadu turned toward me and held my eyes. “I know what you mean. God, how I know what you mean.” She gave me a long, knowing look. “I respect that, Mike. I really do.”

  Heat fried my face. She got it. She understood me perfectly. Vice versa. We had a connection.

  Jamie took a sip of Mistee and said, “Did you get to River View?”

  My eye daggers sliced through his heart.

  “Sorry.” He blanched. “I’m sorry.”

  I thought, Broadcast it to the world, why don’t you?

  “What’s River View?” Xanadu asked.

  Jamie answered quickly, “The big party scene outside of town. It’s where us townies go to shoot up and perform degrading acts of sex and civil disobedience.”

  Xanadu’s eyebrows lifted. “When can we leave?” She grinned. “Just kidding.” She helped herself to a curly fry. “I don’t do drugs and I’m giving up sex.”

  “Forever?” Jamie and I said together. We cut each other a glance.

  Xanadu shrugged. “Guys blow.”

  Jamie said, “Which ones? Could you get me their numbers?”

  Xanadu must’ve kicked him under the table because he yelped and grabbed his shin. My Mr. Mistee ran dry so I sighted a rim shot to the trash can. Whoosh. Two points.

  “Really. Where do you guys party? What do you do here? It’s so boring I just want to strip naked and go running through the cornfields.”

  Jamie’s eyes bulged. “Could I sell tickets to that?”

  I clicked a tongue at him. That was a joke. I’d buy up all the tickets, though. “Wheat,” I said.

  “What?” Xanadu blinked at me.

  “Nothing,” I mumbled. It’s wheat, not corn.

  She opened her purse and fished around for something. A poison dart for Jamie, I hoped. He opened his mouth to humiliate me again, but got distracted by a black Ford pickup veering into the parking cove and grinding to a halt on the gravel. “Great. Talk about guys who blow,” Jamie said under his breath. He sighed heavily and stood.

  “Who is it?” Xanadu pulled out her shades and reclasped her purse.

  Both truck doors slammed in unison. Xanadu’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God.” She clenched my arm. “Who is that?”

  I shielded my eyes against the blinding sun. You couldn’t mistake those two silhouettes. “Which one?” I said.

  “The one with the hat.”

  They both had Stetsons. “Beau and Bailey McCall,” I told her. Maybe she meant Bailey, since Beau was carrying his hat. “Beau is Jamie’s wet dream.”

  Xanadu’s head spun in Jamie’s direction, but he’d already skittered back inside. Beau raked a hand through his mop of curly brown hair and eased his Stet back onto his head. Xanadu watched as they neared us. She pressed a palm to her heart. “My God,” she breathed. “They’re divine. Bailey’s the taller one?”

  I hadn’t noticed before, but I guess he was a couple of inches taller than Beau. They were both over six feet. “Yeah.”

  As they passed our table, they acknowledged me — us — with identical hitches of their chins. Like Bailey, like Beau. It was sort of a running joke. Jamie ran with it.

  “Hey,” I said in greeting. Xanadu seemed dumbstruck, frozen in the lips-parted position. She slid her shades down the bridge of her nose and peered over the rim, sexily.

  At the takeout window they both ordered burgers and Cokes. “Would you like fries with that?” Jamie asked Beau. “They’re on the house.”

  Jamie, I admonished silently. Nothing was on the house here. He had to pay for everything he ate, which pretty much meant he volunteered his time. Why was he always doing that for Beau? Giving it away? He came off so desperate.

  Xanadu scooted out the end of the bench and moved around the table to sit opposite me. Why? To get a better view? “I didn’t see them at school,” she said in a lowered voice across the tabletop. “And believe me, I checked out everyone.”

  I thought back. “They’ve been gone a couple of days. Helping with calving.” At least, Bailey had. Like Bailey, like Beau, I assumed.

  “Where?” Xanadu asked.

  “Where what?”

  She let out a little huff. “Where do they live?”

  “Oh. Out by you,” I answered. “Near your aunt and uncle. You just continue on the county road a couple of miles until you see the big windmill. You’ll smell it first. Their feedlot.”

  “No shit?”

  I laughed. Was that a joke?

  Xanadu’s lips twitched up at the ends. “I might have to take up cattle rustling.”

  Slaughtering, I almost corrected her.

  We watched as they pumped mustard and ketchup and spooned relish onto their burgers. Xanadu stared so hard at Bailey’s back it made him turn around. “Oh my God, he’s looking at me.” She hid her face behind her purse. “I didn’t even put on makeup today.”

  You don’t need it, I wanted to say. You’re beautiful the way you are. Besides, he can’t see your eyes.

  She asked, “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  “Who?”

  She cocked her head at me like, Hel-loo?

  “Bailey? How should I know?” It came out harsher than I meant.

  “I thought everyone knew everything in Coalton.”

  When they cared, I thought.

  “Is he still looking?” Xanadu sneaked a peek over her purse.

  “No, he’s inhaling his burger.” I looped a leg over the bench and stood up. “I better get you home before dark.” Thank you, Faye. Thank you, God, for rotation of the earth and making the sunset arrive at this time.

  Xanadu exhaled an irritated breath. She pushed out the end of her bench and paused for a moment, studying Bailey. Looking breath-taking backlit by the rosy sun. Then she turned and accompanied me to the truck.

  The truck.

  Xanadu must’ve realized it the same moment I did. There was no truck. We both skidded to a stop in the gravel. She removed her shades and dropped them into her purse, then said, “I think I know where I can get a ride. Is there a restroom in this p
lace? I have to put on makeup.”

  My heart sank. “Knock on the back door. Jamie’ll let you use the one inside.”

  She reversed direction and walked toward the Dairy D. Halfway there, she turned and called to me, “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  Chapter Seven

  I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop thinking about Xanadu. Dad’s lighter was under my pillow. I felt around for it in the dark. I flipped the cap and filled my nose with the oily smell of butane. “If you dream it, you can be it.” Dad. He was talking about softball, about being picked for All-State, playing competitive, playing college ball. About making a career of it, going pro. When was that?

  Didn’t matter. My dream wasn’t about softball. I wanted her. She wasn’t a dream. She was here, now. Dreaming doesn’t get you anything, Dad. You have to do more than want it so bad it hurts. You have to take action.

  I shut the lighter and focused on my clock across the room. 3:46. Sunday morning. If I added more definition to my arms, or my quads, where she could see.... There wasn’t much I could do about my height. I could wear my cowboy boots. They’d add an inch or two.

  The VFW didn’t open until noon, but Armie said I could use the resistance equipment any time I wanted. He may not have meant four AM.So he shouldn’t have given me a key.

  It was quiet in Coalton. So quiet you could feel the silence like a blanket wrapped around you.

  I warmed up with side, tricep, and quad stretches, then ran through a couple of sets of curls, pulldowns, leg presses. I benched a hundred. My muscles were spazzing bad, but I power-crunched till it hurt.

  My mood lifted, my outlook. I felt more in control. Nothing had happened between her and Bailey. What could happen on a ride home?

  I locked the VFW door and started back. People who weren’t in church, or had gone to an early service, were already sitting out on their front porches, drinking coffee and reading the Tri-County Gazette. “Morning, Mike.” From the ratty old sofa in front of his trailer, Mayor Ledbetter waved to me. “It’s a warm ’un already, isn’t it? Hot for April.”

  “Sure is,” I called back.

  “Cougars are looking mean.”

  I flexed a bicep at him.

  He flexed one back. “Marie and I don’t miss a game.” Marie was the Missus Mayor, as per Jamie.

  The Coalton neighborhood was alternating blocks of houses and trailers, as if in the old days people who arrived here couldn’t decide whether to stay or move on. Szabos stayed. Our family had been here for three generations now, four counting me and Darryl. Great-Grandpa Darryl was a gunslinger with Wild Bill Hickok, according to Dad. He’d told us all these stories when we were kids about how famous, or infamous, our relatives had been. It was b.s. We were plumbers.

  I turned the corner on eighth and the Cadillac parked in our drive-way made me grind to a halt. Crap. Pastor Glenn from United Methodist. Why did he keep coming here? He had to park with his butt end in the street because Darryl’s auto carcasses were clogging the driveway. Darryl claimed that once he got them fixed up and running, he’d either sell them or race the cars himself on the circuit. Sure, Darryl. Big dreams. Darryl never finished anything he started. Most of his junk heaps had been propped up so long on cinder blocks there was bindweed choking the carburetors.

  I eased open the back screen and tiptoed into the kitchen. Pastor Glenn was in the living room with Ma. Like always, he was reading the Bible and she was weeping. Sometimes he’d recite his Sunday sermon, since Ma was too fat to go to church. She’d sob through that too.

  Ma’d always been heavy. She stayed indoors, in hiding. Which was fine with me. I didn’t need all the kids in school making fun of her. After Dad died Ma got worse about going out in public. Eating too. I bet she weighed close to five hundred pounds now. And she hadn’t left the house in a year. Not to go to church. Not to shop. Not to step outside for a breath of fresh air.

  Unfortunately, the only way to my bedroom was past Ma and Pastor Glenn. He glanced up from his reading. “Hello, Mike.” He grinned. He had a gap between his two front teeth that made him look like a big kid.

  “How’s it goin’?” I said.

  “Every day is a blessing. Thank you for asking. We miss you at church.”

  I forced a grim smile. “I’ll try to get there next week.” That was a lie, and he knew it. I’d stopped going to church after Dad died. Too many sad eyes. Too many prayers said for me and Ma and Darryl.

  I took a shower. While I was soaping up, I could feel Pastor Glenn in the other room. It creeped me out. A memory seeped into my mind. The last time we all went to church. The Szabos, five of us, along with half the town. It was Camilia’s baptism. I was, what? Seven, eight? Ma had handed the baby to Pastor Glenn, then sat on a folding chair. She couldn’t stand too long, even then. I remember, she started bawling. Tears trickling out the sides of her eyes and streaming down her blotchy face. Dad had handed her a handkerchief and patted her shoulder. He wasn’t crying. He never cried. He was strong. He was holding my hand, smiling down on me.

  Why was Ma crying? It was a happy occasion. Did she know then that Camilia was going to die?

  What? That thought brought me up short. I blinked soap out of my eyes and rinsed off my face.

  Camilia died the next day. Ma couldn’t have known. Not the way she reacted when it happened.

  But how did Camilia die? As hard as I racked my brain, I couldn’t remember. It wasn’t violent, I don’t think. I’d remember that.

  By the time I was done and dressed, Pastor Glenn had gone. Thank God. Ma was back in her room, doing whatever it was she did in there thirty-six hours a day. Consume pies by the box load, then ask the Lord’s forgiveness for gluttony. Darryl’d been up. He’d left the milk out to sour. I fixed myself a power shake and took my glass out back. On the porch stoop, I drank and tried not to think about stuff. About how it might’ve gone with Xanadu and Bailey.

  When I got to the water tower at quarter to eleven, the ladder was already propped up against the side. I freaked. What if some dumb kid had climbed to the top and did a copycat? This town couldn’t take another death. They couldn’t afford it. Dad’s suicide had cost everyone, not only in terms of burial costs. I scaled the ladder as fast as I could.

  The dumb kid turned out to be Jamie. He was greased from head to toe with baby oil. Somehow he’d managed to cart up a chaise lounge and cooler, in addition to his boom box and beach bag.

  “What’s that?” I said, noting with disgust what he was wearing. Or wasn’t wearing.

  “Like it?” He snapped the strap on his thong. “I bought these on eBay. One for each day of the week. Want to see where it says ‘Sunday’?”

  I ignored him as I spread out my towel. The metal walkaround was already generating visible heat waves. I pulled my undershirt over my head. All I had to wear were my sports bra and boxers, since my swimming suit was way too small. I’d bulked up a little over the summer — okay, a lot. But it wasn’t worth buying a new suit. I hadn’t been to the town pool for two years, and might never go again. Dad and I had installed the pump and filtration system, and it was just another reminder.

  “I thought you’d invite Xanadu,” Jamie said. He offered me the baby oil.

  I pulled sunblock out of my pack instead. “Why would I do that?” I asked, squeezing a blob of cream into my hand and smearing my abs.

  “Oh, I don’t know. You want to eat her?”

  I just looked at him.

  He grinned. “It’s so obvious, the way you look at her and go into heat.”

  “Shut up.” Was it? Had she noticed? What if she had? I rubbed sun-block over my left shin. “You’d know about dogs in heat.”

  “Yes, I would.” He panted.

  “You don’t know squat.” I retrieved my shades from my pack and slipped them on. “Turn up the radio. I like this song.”

  “Ooh, yeah, me too.”

  Jamie sang and I hummed along to Faith Hill’s Breathe. I closed my eyes, picturing Xanadu in my
mind. I wondered what she was doing at this very moment. Running naked through the corn. I chuckled to myself. It’s wheat. I should’ve invited her today. I could’ve spent the next three hours in rapt fascination as she swabbed her entire body with sun-block. Maybe I could’ve helped with those hard-to-reach spots.

  But she wasn’t into tanning.

  The song ended and the news came on. Jamie switched off the radio. “She is a babe.” He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow. “What do you know about her?”

  All I need to. “She’s staying out at the Davenports’. Faye and Le-land are her great-aunt and uncle.”

  “Boring. Tell me something private and personal that she swore you to secrecy never to reveal.”

  In his dreams. I recapped my sunblock and set the bottle beside me on the towel. Withdrawing an eight-pack of Capri Suns from my pack, I peeled the outer cellophane wrapper and handed a box to Jamie.

  “Word of advice, Mike,” he said, sticking his straw through the foil on top. “Give it up. Unless you know something I don’t, she’s straight. You saw her with Bailey. She was all over him like maggots on meat. We shouldn’t hold that against her. She was obviously BTW.” He sipped noisily.

  BTW — born that way. What did he mean, all over him?

  I lay back and beckoned the sun. Heat me, give me life. Jamie was exaggerating.

  A finger poked my arm and I flinched. “She’ll only break your heart,” Jamie said.

  I twisted his finger, or tried to. It was slimy. “What are you, the voice of experience?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” He sighed. He resettled on his chaise and pulled his sunglasses down from atop his head.

  He was referring to Beau. Last year and most of this one, that was all he talked about. Beau, Beau, Beau. I wanna blow Beau. Problem was, besides Beau being straight as a rail, he was too polite. Beau’d never tell Jamie to fuck off, like most of the guys had. “You know,” I said, “maybe if you didn’t act so queer, you’d have a chance with Beau.”

  Jamie burst into laughter.

  What? Was he laughing at me? That pissed me off. “Look, if you’re going to give advice, you should be able to take it.”