Neither are you. Now, Ms. Jackson, this is a serious situation—
She’s missing?
You said it, not me. How much do you care?
What line of questioning is this?
Oho, so you’ve been questioned before! Practice makes perfect, I hope. Now, Ms. Jackson—
How long has she been missing?
First maybe you can tell me about your association.
Well, Karen was my, I mean, I was a sort of mentor to her when she was in high school. A very troubled girl. When she started stalking me, I had to end it.
How long did your association continue?
Oh, I would say maybe two years.
And she threatened you?
Nothing like that. She wouldn’t leave me alone.
What do you mean by that?
Just what I said.
So you were her mentor. What did you teach her?
Oh, social skills, life skills. Karen had no friends. She was very needy, and I—
Took an interest.
Officer, I don’t like your tone.
Can you describe your last contact with her?
It was such a long time ago, said E-beth. I don’t know if I can . . .
How old was she?
Well, she was in high school, as I said. Sixteen, seventeen . . .
And then it ended?
Well, not right away. Karen became, well, insufferable.
And you knew her in Vallejo?
That’s right.
When were you last back there?
Ages ago, said the old woman.
Do you know Karen’s mother?
Oh, is she still alive? I almost never saw her. There was some tension between her and Karen, so I, well, I tried to take Karen’s side. I was never inside that house. And after I told Karen not to contact me I certainly had no reason to see her mother.
So the mother didn’t like you.
It was mutual.
Aha. And how would you describe Karen?
Very self-absorbed. She couldn’t acknowledge anyone other than herself. It was very wearing to be around her, actually.
What made her that way?
Officer Slager, why not tell me what all this is about?
Karen has been missing for a long time—
How long?
Maybe not long, and maybe for thirty years, in which case someone has taken her identity. Do you recognize this person?
He showed her a photograph of Neva. E-beth looked at it and said: Well, it looks like Karen. But I don’t really know. I hope nothing has happened to her. But as I said it’s been many years and we never had much in common.
Ms. Jackson, what aren’t you telling me?
Glaring at him, she said: Please get out of my house.
Chuckling, then wheezing, he rose and said: At Jingle’s Bar they still remember you as killer. Apparently you lured quite a few young girls in there.
She started trembling.—Get out. I know my rights.
He said: The statute of limitations never runs out for predators like you. So I just may see you around.
She sat down suddenly.
He limped to the door. Then he said: Karen may be dead. If you help me find out what happened to her, I’ll forget about this other old history. Sure has been a pleasure.
3
So he now taunted the lesbian, whose glassy demeanor was as potentially damning as an accused murderer’s public indifference to a missing child’s whereabouts.
She said she never had much in common with you, Karen. She said you were just a self-absorbed little cunt. You couldn’t acknowledge anyone other than yourself, she said. It was very wearing to be around you, she said. Any response?
She was silent.
I know what you’re going to say. You’ll say I love her. Right, Karen? Don’t you just love to turn the other cheek?
That’s right, said the lesbian.
I called her a pedophile, he explained. Because she is. Right?
I do still love her, said the lesbian. I always will.
But she got her hooks into you when you were underage. I said to her, I said: The statute of limitations never runs out for perverts like you. That shut her up. Because she turned you out. And from what I learned at Jingle’s, she sounds like a serial molester. Maybe even concurrent for all I fuckin’ know. I’ll bet when she was doing you she had other pussy on the side. And then she fired you, right? She got tired of self-absorbed little Karen. Well, guess who’s the self-absorbed one? Well, Karen? Or are you Karen? You gonna answer me or will I have to escalate this?
The lesbian answered: You don’t care about her except to get to me. And I won’t discuss the lives of other people.
So commendable! A gangbanger refuses to snitch on his confederates, and instantly he becomes a man of honor. In your case it’s Stockholm Syndrome. Are you familiar with that cultural reference?
Sure, said the lesbian.
All right. Maybe you are older than you look. So lemme ask you something. How do your lovey-dovey values square with the case of a woman who preys on young girls?
Maybe she loves them.
In other words, you take the Fifth. You refuse the polygraph. Have it your way, Karen. I’ll keep digging up dirt. How does that suit you?
Okay, said the lesbian.
Becoming professorial, he instructed her: There’s a certain kind of suspect who loves only to please. Usually it’s a female thing. That type, she’ll confess to anything, just to put a smile on the arresting officer’s face. Have I nailed you, Karen? Have I?
Sure. Tell me how to please you, she said.
4
By then his ladylove, whose weight loss presently totalled seventeen pounds, had returned several times to the Buddha Bar in search of that retired dancer Helen who was once so gracious, but she never found her. So after doing business with one of those two construction workers in waterproof orange coveralls who sometimes patronized the Y Bar (while she was sucking him off he said: There’s nothin’ worse than cold, wet, windy, except bein’ in a tall metal structure when there’s lightning. Yeah, babe. I’m sayin’ to myself, I’m gonna get fried! Yeah, babe; go faster. Well, it was rainin’ so hard that we couldn’t see shit and I had to tell the guy who was runnin’ the crane what to do. Yeah, babe! Oh, yeah, babe! Now beat it, tranny bitch!), she clipclopped to the Pink Apple to re-parasitize Starfire—who, strange to say, appeared less than delighted, but Judy, who’d learned a few tricks from Shantelle, not to mention her own worst customers, slipped her two goofballs and promised to (a) pay for all the drinks and (b) get out before the busy time started. Once the first goofball kicked in, Starfire chewed up the second. Then her pupils enlarged and she began stroking Judy’s hair quite tenderly, saying: The world of trannies must be so different. I think that they’re really suffering. But you . . . Show business . . . I think that my mind is so divorced from show business . . .
I wanna be a showgirl so bad, Judy whined, sucking on Starfire’s earlobe.
Hey, that feels . . . Cut it out! I tend to be a person that’s really in the moment. I tend to get really annoyed with showgirls because they live in a fantasy. This is not the real world. They’re so obsessed. I was in New York, I was in Broadway; they’re so in love with that whole thing.
Wow! You were on Broadway! I mean, tell me about that!
The girls I looked at, I was training with, I looked to them, not to Baryshnikov. There’s no crime in reaching for something . . .
Who’s Baryshnikov?
You know, it’s just a job. I hate it very much as a job where you punch a time clock and you have to park in the employee lot. Many years ago in Vegas, before the gangsters got out, showgirls were treated like royalty: Park where you want; just had to come in dressed to the nines. I could never get m
y head around punching a time clock and then taking your clothes off.
Well, I bet you were the favorite!
No, I was not the favorite. Judy, you know what you need? Botox. I think you should just take it, and be realistic. Well, it looks weird, puffy lips and . . . Oh, my, I lost my train of thought. What the fuck did you give me? But it feels so good . . .
Starfire, could I please please kiss you, just once?
Judy, I’m not a dyke.
Oh, sorry, sorry! I mean . . . You could just spit into my mouth or something.
Okay, I’ll kiss you on the cheek, but . . . man, I feel goddamned good!
Can I buy you another drink?
What the hell . . . I wanna . . . gimme another Patriot Dry and then I’ll go and piss it out. You know, you’re kind of . . .
Feeling topnotch, Judy went to the bar, ordered, paid and provided. Right away she began stroking Starfire’s hair. She giggled and laid her head on Judy’s shoulder. The barman shot them a grim look, but what the fuck did those lovebirds care?
Now, Starfire, Judy whispered, tell me about your body. I just love your body.
I actually have very bad body self-image. I was the object of everyone’s harassment. Very flatchested, while my other girlfriends had just such great boobs. So I had to get a personality. It makes you dig deeper. You don’t have to like the things you go through. I always have a little bit of anger inside me. I was like the ugly girl on the bench. So I wanted to get out. I don’t need this shit. I can get out there and do whatever I want to do. Like right now I can . . . But some girls don’t know anything else. But right now . . . Right now I feel sick . . .
Then she threw up all over Judy.
5
I admit that there is far too much vomiting in this book, and I keep telling Judy to stop making it happen. But as you know, it was fundamentally Neva’s fault.
Judy tried to lead her date home, and take extra special care of her, but Starfire preferred to stagger out cursing, so Judy, terrified of the angry bartender, fled in her own fashion and direction. She got home, showered in her clothes, showered naked, went to bed and happily masturbated, imagining that she was in a costume bristling with faux diamonds, emeralds, sapphires and rubies—in fact, she was the queen of the showgirl lineup and Neva kept begging her to come back but Judy just wouldn’t! Neva was weeping, and then Judy said . . .
6
Two afternoons later, the lesbian, postponing her other commitments, visited the Pink Apple to apologize on Judy’s behalf. Starfire was still furious, but money, sympathy and charm worked their own effect.—I mean, said the dancer, what are you, her mother or something?
Something like that, said the lesbian.
But you fuck her.
The lesbian nodded.
Well, that’s just like a mother! All right, Neva, what do you want?
Someday she’s going to be on her own. And she’s not realistic—
She’s a creep! She drugged me and got all over me—
Starfire, she—
My real name’s Amy.
Hi.
Hi.
Amy, the thing is that Judy actually had a success once or twice at the Y Bar, before a man assaulted her. Now she’s not confident. And just a little applause made her so happy . . . !
Because she was a tranny on amateur night! In this town people are good sports; they give it up for trannies when they show some heart, but that’s . . .
So you’re saying Judy has heart.
Yeah. Now I think about it, one time I did see her act, but it must not have been at the Y Bar because I never enter that stinking joint. And, sure, she was so out there that it was a hoot! An easygoing, tipsy audience on a Friday night in a trans-friendly town, and a T-girl stoned out of her mind who’d do anything to please, well, that can be a winning formula sometimes, but does she understand her limitations? And by the way, Neva, do not encourage her to bother me again ever, because if she does I’ll punch her right in her fat hairy chin. Do you get that?
Okay, said the lesbian.
And, Neva, I’m trying not to be mean, but aren’t you kind of an enabler? Because Judy basically took advantage of me. She has the M.O. of a molester.
I love Judy.
Well, where does that leave me?
I love you, too, said the lesbian.
Bullshit! Although I will admit that you’re pretty hot. Not that I go for women really.
You wanna come over and see me?
Sure, Neva. Text me your phone number and we’ll . . . Now look. I remember one night when we were all up there in the line in Vegas and there was a woman, obviously a newlywed, sitting in King’s Row, and her husband was sitting there big-eyed, admiring all these naked tits, and I’m looking at this woman, truly bent out of shape, and she didn’t realize what we looked like at home; it was all illusion. Now, to create illusion you have to be a little cold. You have to see yourself for who you are. And your Judy wants to sit in King’s Row looking at herself in the line, and that’s not possible. She can only be in one place at a time. Which one is it?
King’s Row, said the lesbian. Or even the back row would—
Exactly. I mean, she’s not like you and me. Admit it, Neva: You and I are stars together. And I, I find it very strange to be saying this, because I’m not a dyke, but I find you very attractive. Do you think you could like me?
I love you, said the lesbian.
Starfire kissed her. Then she really kissed her. She said: Well, I wanna know, the way I am set up right now, am I guaranteed a job in your bed forever?
Sure, said the lesbian. Everything’s forever.
Wow! You even have a sense of humor! Oh, well. What the fuck. It’s all illusion . . .
7
By now Shantelle often came over drunk or high. Sometimes she would slap the lesbian around. Mostly she hit her open-handed on the cheek, although sometimes she walloped her on the buttocks. As Xenia used to tell me: We do eroticize violence. What else are we gonna do with it? We absorb it. We have to deal with it. I enjoy getting slapped by the right girl; Judy’s into it, Sandra wants it without realizing it . . .—so why shouldn’t Neva?
A hard slap in the mouth, a little blood . . .—Oh, I’m sorry, Neva, so sorry . . . I didn’t mean it; it’s just that I got fuckin’ jealous—
Hit me some more if you want to.
No. If I do, I might kill you.
That’s okay.
But then you’d get away from me. Are you trying to run away, bitch?
Shantelle, I’m right here. Now let me get on top of you . . .
What would have happened if Thomas or Peter, craving to be closer to Jesus than anyone, had tried to gain His exclusive attention, and threatened to kill Him had He bestowed love on any other disciple? Would He have offered Himself to such a murder, thereby saving Judas from guilt? Would this sacrifice have been as acceptable to God as the judicial execution He suffered on the cross, which symmetrically cancelled out Adam and Eve’s violation of the law about eating certain apples?—It was these questions that I solved for all time in my room at the Saint Brendan, with my feet up and a rum and sodapop in my hand.
8
And we almost never have sex anymore, said Hunter. Lately I feel like I’m nothing more than one of your peripheral friends.
Seven dollars, said Francine, and just as Sandra, urgently pulling the lips of her vulva apart, prepared for Neva’s touch, the barmaid shucked the cap of another Old German Lager for Xenia. She turned it over because sometimes there was a contest involving lucky numbers, but this inside was merely wet, cold and blank.
An ancient Vietnamese hooker came in and said: I’ll take a Diablo Lite, I said a Diablo Lite, and I’ll be right back from the restroom. Hi, Xenia. Hi, Shantelle.
Unsmiling, Francine said: Pay first, Mai.
Fuck you! said the old lady, storming out.
Actually, said Xenia, you’re the one who turns me down for sex over and over. In the nighttime you’re too tired; in the morning you’re not in the mood. So I’d say you’re deceiving yourself.
All you want is to eat my pussy, said Hunter. And there are many many times when I can’t come and you could just penetrate me with my Pink Lizzie or—
But I don’t want to penetrate you if you’re not in the mood. You make it seem as if you’re just lying there being a hole for me, and that’s like rape.
It just strikes you that way because of your history, said Hunter. I refuse to let you call it rape. That’s bad faith—
Hey, you two, said Francine. Keep it cool.
Besides, said Hunter, you’re not interested in me. All you care about is Neva.
You know I love you—
And all you ever do is complain. You know what I mean. Why don’t you go to the doctor and do something about it?
Yes, Hunter.
Yes, Hunter means that you’re not going to do anything. And you’ve been dishonest with me. I’m not willing to be your number two paramour. Or number six, or—
Xenia kept quiet.
Neva can do it, said Hunter. We all agree she’s one of a kind. But you’re actually a—
Watch it, said Francine.
You pretend this and that, and I won’t do it anymore, said Hunter. I’m finished.
Fine, said Xenia, losing patience. Francine, how much do I owe?
For you or both?
For both.
Fourteen dollars.
Xenia threw down a five and ten and began to walk out, while Hunter wept into her drink. In came the lesbian.
9
And of course when Hunter told me about her times with you, said Sandra, she—
She’s basically a lesbian, the straight man interrupted. She only fucked me to get back at Xenia, and I fucked her because I was lonely and you were—
Well, darling, but what she said confirmed what I already felt, that I want you to make love to me so I can lose myself in those beautiful moments. When you and I are together, when you hold me and touch me, there’s nobody else.
Except Neva, he said. What’s wrong with that picture?
The Lucky Star Page 47