Chapter Twenty-Six
Saturday, 9:45 p.m.
The last chord was plucked, the last cymbal crashed, the last of the applause faded out. The crowd thinned out and Halitosis Demon started breaking their equipment down.
“Man, am I glad to see you’re in one piece,” Grunt said to Barrow as they stepped off the stage.
“Yeah, about that,” Barrow said. He rubbed his temple. “I’ve got something I need to admit to y’all.”
Corn elbowed his way in between them. “Let me guess. You told our plan to the basketball team and that’s why they knew we were coming.”
Alva put his hand on Corn’s shoulder. “Come on, man, leave him alone. It wasn’t him.”
“Actually, it was me,” Barrow said.
“It was?” Alva and Grunt said together.
Barrow lightly clapped his hands. “I have to apol—”
Corn stuck his finger in Barrow’s chest. “Did you score with that chick?”
“I’m sorry, man. I just wanted to—”
“I don’t care,” Corn said. “Cindy. Did you score with her?”
“No, I couldn’t do it.” Barrow turned his face away. “I mean, I tried to, but when we started kissing and everything, I couldn’t go through with it.”
“Good,” Corn said. “Then you ain’t got a thing to apologize for. Not to me, and not to any of us.”
“That’s it, you’re not angry?” Barrow said.
“Nah,” Corn said. “Maybe I’m just in a forgiving mood tonight.”
Alva turned thoughtful. “Hm. Could be a residual effect from the—”
“No, no, no!” Corn waved his hand, as if to ward off a curse. “Don’t spoil it, Alva! We’re back together and everything’s all right. No explanation needed. Let’s all just chill and enjoy the vibes tonight.”
Saturday, 10:10 p.m.
“Corn.” Andre cracked a Bud Light and gave a little nod to where Corn lounged on a wicker couch on the deck. “I guess I owe you an apology for downstairs. No hard feelings, right?” He extended his free hand.
Corn kept his hand on his lap and glared at Andre darkly. “You threw me and my friends in a closet and locked us in.”
“C’mon, that wasn’t for the whole night. That was to keep y’all from stealing back the Love Machine and taking over on stage. Which you did anyway.” He aimed a little finger pistol at Corn. “You killed while you were up there, by the way.”
“Yeah, we did do that, didn’t we?”
“Let bygones be bygones?” Andre said. “Me and you shouldn’t be enemies.”
We did win, Corn thought. They didn’t stop us. He scratched his chin a second and put out his hand as well. Andre shook it and sat next to him on the couch, taking a gulp from the can.
“Tell me something, brother,” Andre said. He pointed to Alva, who stood at the deck railing with a couple girls, frizzy hair poking out from under his UNC cap, making some sort of complicated gesture with an open palm and two fingers on his other hand. “What do you see in that goofy-ass white boy over there?”
Corn smiled. “You mean Alva?” He knew without hearing it that Alva was demonstrating a physics principle or some shit.
“Yeah. I mean, I know you got the band and all, but honestly. You could start your own band. You can sing, you play bass. You’re smooth with the ladies. Why hang with the geeks?”
The girls looked at each other with open-mouthed expressions of “Are you serious?” and strode off, leaving Alva standing by himself. He had to whip out the physics demonstration, didn’t he? Corn glanced at Andre. “Yeah, he’s a nerd. But Alva’s a trip, man. He’s always coming up with these crazy ideas, these inventions. I gotta be around him so I can see what happens next.”
“Like the Love Machine?”
“Exactly. But that’s just what he’s invented this month. Last time it was shirts that change color depending on the mood you’re in. Except when we wore them, all the shirts were turning green all the time, for horniness.”
Andre laughed. “I remember that. Tamika got up in front of class for a presentation with those short shorts on, and your shirt went from white to Kermit the Frog in about three seconds. That was some funny shit.”
“Yeah, like I needed to advertise that to the whole class.”
“Hey, all the guys were feelin’ it,” Andre said.
“Stupid-ass invention,” Corn said. “And next month it’ll be something else. I mean, you’re right. He’s goofy. He’s goofy as hell. But as dumb or embarrassing as it is sometimes, the truth is: I don’t wanna miss a moment of it.”
“Okay, I hear you,” Andre said.
Grunt and Kyna stopped in front of them carrying beer bottles. “Corn, there you are,” Grunt said.” I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Corn spread his hands. “I’ve been right here.”
Andre leaned over and spoke in a low tone. “You ever change your mind, wanna hang out with a different crowd, you know my number.” Andre clapped Corn on the shoulder and stood. “See you around sometime.”
“Cool, see you.”
Grunt slipped into Andre’s place on the couch and pulled Kyna onto his lap. “Dude, you’ve gotta get some of this.”
“Beer? You know I don’t do that.”
“Yeah, but this is O’Doul’s.” Grunt held the bottle out in his free hand. “The refrigerator’s stocked here. You want me to get you one?”
“Did you not understand what I just said?”
“It doesn’t have any alcohol,” Kyna said. “It’s alright if you want to try one. You won’t get drunk.”
“Listen,” Corn said. “Getting drunk’s got nothin’ to do with it. I ain’t goin’ home with beer on my breath. What would Mama think?”
Kyna brushed a strand of red hair out of her face. “You could tell her it was O’Doul’s. Wouldn’t she believe you?”
“That’s not the point. I gotta have fresh breath when I get home. Mama gonna be waiting up for me. And I don’t want to trouble Mama’s mind. Not even for a second.”
“That’s kind of sweet, actually,” Kyna said.
Corn spotted Monica walking by on the deck into the house. “Okay, you two take the couch. I’ve got something I need to do.”
Saturday, 10:15 p.m.
Taffy and Cindy ran into Eric coming out of the bathroom, eyes red-rimmed, one hand holding the other gingerly.
“Where have you been?” Taffy asked. “And what the hell is wrong with you? Have you been crying?”
“I think I broke my hand,” Eric said. A big tear rolled from the inside corner of his eye down his cheek.
“Broken?” Cindy said. “How’d that happen?”
“I don’t know. When shit went crazy, I just started punching things. I couldn’t even control myself. Walls. The stage. The amplifiers. I was so angry I was tryin’ to break the equipment, right? But I heard something crunch, and when I pulled my hand back it looked like this.” He held his hand up. His index and middle fingers hung crooked, swollen black and bulbous.
“Oh, gross!” Taffy said.
“Do you think it’s bad?” Eric said. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Man, put that shit away,” Taffy said. “I don’t even wanna see it, it’s so nasty.”
Cindy grabbed Taffy’s arm. “We have to get him to the hospital.”
“What, during the party?” Taffy said. “Can’t it wait?”
“Oh, Taffy. If you wait too long, it might not heal right. I’ll take him if you won’t. Just give me your keys.”
“No, I’ll drive,” Taffy said. “Shit, Eric, you owe me for this.”
“How long do you think it will take to heal?” Eric said.
Taffy shook his head. “Dude, I don’t know if you’ll be playing next season.”
Eric threw his head back and closed his eyes while a sound like the crushing of a dream groaned from deep within him. Taffy and Cindy glanced at each other.
Cindy put her arm around him. “I think you mig
ht need surgery, Eric. We’d better leave right now. Taffy, go get your car. Eric and I will meet you in front of the house.”
Saturday, 10:18 p.m.
“Hey girl, what’s up?” Corn eyed the way Monica brushed her dark, shoulder-length hair behind her ear. And those legs just killed him, all slender with a hint of muscle tone in the calves.
“Oh, hi, Corn. How are you?”
“Good. Definitely good.” Those brown eyes, bright behind her glasses. Killin’ me! “I saw you dancing over here by yourself. You need a partner?”
Monica seemed a little embarrassed. “Sure. If you want.” The bouncy, bass-heavy beat of Steel Pulse’s Grab a Girlfriend boomed from the stereo and couples rubbed against each other all over the room.
Corn took Monica’s right hand and stepped behind her, sliding his other hand around her stomach. They moved easily together and as the song ended, Corn pulled her a little closer. Her hair brushed his face and he breathed in the clean, apple smell of her hair.
“What are you doing?” Monica asked.
“Just tryin’ to get close to you. Is that all right?”
Monica tilted her head to the side. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Be nice and dance with me.”
Corn stopped and turned her around. “What are you talking about?”
“Corn.” Monica sighed. “I know the kind of girls you like. Big booty girls, right?”
“Sure,” Corn said.
“So, I’m obviously not that. You don’t have to come over and dance with me because you feel sorry for the new girl.” She withdrew her hand and stepped away.
But, but… the comic books. The rap song. Leading us behind the movie theatre. Monica walked away from him. Do something, man, she’s getting away. She continued walking without even glancing back. Damn it, Corn, bust a move!
He strode after her and grabbed her arm.
“Hey! Watch it!” she said.
“I got something to say to you.”
Monica drew her head back. “Yeah, what’s that?”
“Um.” What do I have to say to her? “Girl, I don’t even know what you were talking about back there.”
She shrugged. “I know you like big butts and boobs. So you don’t have to pretend to be interested in me. I explained it to you.”
“You think you did, but you didn’t say nothin’. All I heard was, like, I know chocolate cake is your favorite dessert, so I’m not gonna invite you over to my house ’cause all I got is lemon meringue. And what I’m saying is, I love lemon meringue, so quite messin’ around and bring out dessert, girl!”
“Okay,” Monica said. “I get it. You’ll have a bite of lemon meringue. But what happens when some girl walks by with a slice of that chocolate cake? You’ll drop your fork and go after that.”
Corn shook his head. “No way. I’ve had enough chocolate cake. I know what that tastes like.” He drew her to him and spoke in her ear. “I want the lemon meringue. And I’m gonna be hungry for it every night.”
Their mouths pressed together and Monica closed her eyes. She might look like lemon meringue, Corn thought, but I’ll be damned if she doesn’t taste just like rhubarb pie.
Saturday, 10:20 p.m.
Barrow sat on the sand in front of the dunes, staring at the ocean. Reflected moonlight glowed pale green in the roiling water. Waves crashed like a thousand Grunts hitting cymbals, drowning out all but an occasional yell or whoop from the party at the house. Barrow tucked his arms inside his t-shirt to stay warm in the nippy sea breeze and didn’t hear when somebody stepped up behind him.
“Hey.”
Barrow snapped his head around. “Oh! Hey.” A tall, blond-headed kid stood there awkwardly. Barrow recognized him as one of the sophomore basketball players who’d been in the garage earlier.
“Sorry to surprise you.”
“It’s okay,” Barrow said. “I didn’t think anybody else would be out here.”
The kid settled beside him on the sand, leaned back on his long arms. “You’re pretty awesome on guitar.”
“Thanks.”
The clear foam-flecked underflow of a wave ran up nearly to their toes. “You been playing a long time?”
“Only about three years. But I practice a lot.”
“Cool.” The kid bit his lip. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Shoot,” Barrow said.
“Are you really gay?”
Barrow exhaled in irritation and put his arms back through their sleeves, in case he needed to defend himself. “Shit. You came out here to mess with me?”
“No!” the kid said. “I…I really admire that you’re open about it.” Silence for a beat. “I am too. Gay, I mean. But not open about it. Not yet.”
“Oh.” Barrow looked at the kid in the face. He couldn’t see his eyes in the darkness, but his lips were half-open, tentative, as if not sure what reaction he’d get. Sharp cheekbones. Spiky hair. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Tommy. I know your name, though. Barrow, right?”
“Yeah. Have you told anybody else?”
“You’re the first person I’ve ever told. I thought about it lots of times. Telling a couple buddies, people on the team. But I don’t think it’d work out like I want it to, you know?”
Barrow laughed. “Yeah, I definitely know.”
“When I saw you up on stage tonight, playing. It’s like, everybody at school knows you’re gay, but you can still do that. Go up and play in front of the whole crowd, and it’s so natural for you.”
“I don’t know if it—”
“I thought you were beautiful up there,” Tommy said.
“Thanks.” Barrow shrugged. “I don’t know what to say here.”
“Don’t say anything.” Tommy put his hand on Barrow’s.
Barrow realized how close their faces were. How had that happened? He paused, a couple inches away. Is this a good idea? I don’t think he’s baiting me. I think he’s for real. But I hardly know him….
“Kiss him, you damn fag!” Corn’s voice wafted from somewhere in the direction of the house.
Barrow did. His heart beat wildly as their lips brushed. Their noses bumped and they drew their heads back, smiling at each other. They leaned forward for another try. It’s really happening. This time their lips parted as the cool meniscus of a wave caressed their toes, but they did not withdraw.
PART FIVE:
SYMPOSIUM
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sunday, May 26th, 6:40 a.m.
Early morning rain spattered against the narrow basement windows. Alva sat hunched on the stool at his work bench, connecting wires from a circuit board to a tiny monitor with tweezers. Corn and Monica, Barrow and Tommy, Grunt and Kyna sat sprawled or entangled, holding hands or making out in the various couches and comfy chairs around the basement. Jason lounged in a beanbag chair while Tina sat on a stool and thumbed through a magazine.
“Who’s hungry?” came the sing-songy voice of Alva’s mom from the top of the stairs. She walked down with a tray of quartered sandwiches.
“Yes!” Grunt said. “You’re the best, Mrs. Klugmann.”
“Thank you, Grunt,” she said, setting the tray on a TV dinner table within his reach. “I need to see you and Kyna both with at least one foot on the floor, though.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said together, straightening up and disentangling a bit. Grunt grabbed a tuna fish quarter and started munching.
“Tina, your dad called,” Alva’s mom said. “You need to be home by eight this morning for your little sister’s dance recital.”
“Got it, Mrs. Klugmann,” Tina said.
“Okay, you kids come up and let me know if you need anything.” Alva’s mom retreated up the stairs and left the door open. The sound of rain continued to patter on the window glass.
“Crazy,” Jason said. “Crazy night. How did you end up without a partner, Tina?”
“I could ask you the
same question,” she said, flipping a page of her Cosmo.
“It’s not too late for us,” Jason said. “You’re a good cook, right?”
“Ha, funny boy,” Tina responded. “I’m a great cook, actually. You’re not my type, though.”
“Too bad.” Jason stretched and yawned. “I’m worried about you, that’s all.”
Corn broke his lip lock with Monica. “Don’t be. With a booty like that that, she won’t have any trouble finding someone any time she wants.”
Tina smiled without looking up. “You think that’s all there is to it, don’t you, Corn? Shake my rear end and the guys come running?”
“Yeah, I bet that’d work,” Corn said.
“Well, I want a guy who wants more than just a pretty girl,” she said. “But you wouldn’t understand. I mean, how a girl looks is the most important thing in a relationship, right Corn?”
“Not necessarily.” Corn rubbed a hand on Monica’s knee and kissed up her cheek to nibble on her ear. “Lemon meringue is most important,” he whispered to her.
“And maybe later, a scoop of strawberry ice cream,” she whispered back and pulled him closer with a hand on the back of his head.
“Mmm, hmm.”
“Oh. My. God.” Tina said. “Anyway, I’m surprised to hear you say looks aren’t necessarily the most important thing.”
Corn glanced up again. “Hey, when you’re gettin’ it on in the dark they don’t matter at all.”
Tina shook her head. “You’re just sad.”
“Why? Gettin’ it on’s what it’s all about. Or do you have a different opinion?”
“The physical is not the most important part of love,” Tina said. “Not even close.”
Corn straightened up in the chair, shifting Monica beside him. “Okay, this I gotta hear. Hey, everybody! Tina Barnett is going to tell us what love is. Okay, Tina. Tell us. What’s the most important thing?”
Tina put her magazine down in her lap. “Well, it’s, umm…” Her eyes drifted towards the ceiling in thought. “You know what it is….”
Corn shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Explain it.”
The Love Machine Page 14