Revolting Youth: The Further Journals of Nick Twisp (32 page)

“Who is it?” Eugenia’s voice inquired over the crackly intercom speaker.

“It’s me. Deirdre,” I replied, chewing my gum. “I’m here!”

Eugenia emerged from the house, sauntered down to the gate, and inspected me through the grillwork. Dressed in a baggy sweatshirt, jeans, and leather house slippers, she was a stocky 45 or so, with short graying hair, mannish features, and hard gray eyes.

“I’m here,” I repeated. “I walked all the way from the bus station and do I have to pee!”

“Where are your parents, Deirdre?” she demanded.

“My mom’s in heaven and my dad had to work. He sent me here by myself.”

“He shouldn’t have done that, Deirdre. He hasn’t signed any paperwork. What’s his phone number?”

“Dad’s workin’ now. He works nights. They don’t have a phone out at the fireworks factory on account of the possible sparks. But Dad’s comin’ here tomorrow.”

“I can’t let you in, Deirdre. I can’t accept the responsibility.”

“You can’t?” I gasped, shifting from foot to foot. “But I got to pee!”

“I’m sorry, Deirdre. You’ll have to come back tomorrow with your father.”

“Boy, is that a bummer. Dad will be so pissed. Oh well, some nice man down at the pool hall offered to buy me a motel room. I guess I’ll go back to him.”

“Wait, Deirdre. Did your father give you any money?”

“Yeah, $65, but I gave all but $3 of it to this cute boy I met on the bus.”

“Oh dear. I can’t believe he let you out by yourself. I don’t suppose, Deirdre, that you do very well in school?”

“Well, I got a C once in geography, but I had to do something nasty to Mr. Grelsome’s private parts. Gee, I gotta pee bad.”

Eugenia reluctantly drew a chained key from the large ring jangling on her belt and unlocked the gate. She said I could stay the night, but warned if my father didn’t arrive by 10 a.m. with a check for $1,800, she would turn me over to the county.

Inside, the Eugenia Home was just as funereally dismal as the outside. After I paid a quick pretend visit to the downstairs bathroom, Eugenia took me into a cramped untidy office, where I was grilled mercilessly by her and Waldo. Tall and grizzled, the Reverend Mr. Fairchild had shifty dead eyes and an even shiftier Adam’s apple. He clearly was dismayed at the prospect of extending Christian charity to a girl in distress. He and his wife asked lots of prying questions about my family, my background, my pregnancy, and my father’s income. This they especially zeroed in on. Deirdre, however, was somewhat vague in her replies.

“Well, what kind of car does your father drive?” demanded Waldo in exasperation.

“Dad drives a brand new Cadillac,” I replied. “All big-time fireworks men drive Cadillacs on account of the dangerous occupation.”

“Then your father owns the business?” asked Eugenia hopefully.

“Uh-huh,” I confirmed. “With Uncle Harry. Dad works nights and Uncle Harry works days. That’s why I’m lacking supervision and got in the family way. But Randy’s mom made him join the Navy, so here I am. Do you have TV?”

They had no TV, but I had arrived in time for evening prayer service. My interrogation concluded, I followed my hosts into the back parlor, where the assembled inmates were lounging on metal folding chairs and wondering what the holdup was. Most of the two dozen girls were obviously expecting and a few appeared as grossly overdue as my sister. I scanned the bored and bloated faces and felt a surge of panic. MY LOVE WAS NOT IN THE ROOM!

Following her husband’s lugubrious prayer service, Eugenia introduced me to Peggy, who was to be my roommate for the night. She was so big I was surprised she didn’t require a forklift under her abdomen. We said “hi” and trailed after the other girls filing through the rear of the house into the attached cinder-block dormitory. Peggy and I were to occupy a small second-floor cubicle just big enough to hold two narrow beds and a particleboard dresser. I looked around the prison-like cell and pretended to settle in.

“Better get your clothes off, Deirdre,” said Peggy, shedding her maternity top. “Lights out in five minutes.”

I quickly turned away, but not before glimpsing a stark white brassiere and something truly frightening below it. Was she expecting quintuplets?

“Uh, which way’s the bathroom?” I asked, keeping my gaze fixed on the ceiling.

“End of the hall. But you better make it snappy. Eugenia does a bed check before lights out.”

I found the bathroom, took a fast whiz, and tossed my
nightgown on over my dress. Peggy was a blanket-surmounted volcano in her bed when I returned. I slipped into the other bed and switched out the light. Thirty seconds later Eugenia opened the door, shined a flashlight in our faces, said “Good night,” and closed the door.

“Peggy,” I whispered, “is there a girl here named Sheeni?”

“Nope. And we’re not allowed to talk after lights out.”

“Did any girls arrive in the last week?”

“Just Sherry. She’s totally stuck-up.”

“What’s her last name?”

“We’re not allowed to tell each other our last names. I guess we’re supposed to feel ashamed, but I don’t.”

“Is Sherry pretty with chestnut hair?”

“I don’t think she’s so pretty. Eugenia paddles us if we’re caught talking.”

“Why wasn’t Sherry at the prayer service?”

“She’s disobedient, Deirdre, like you. She’s confined to her quarters. She called Waldo a pious degenerate.”

That sounded like My Love all right.

“Where’s her room?”

“Ground floor, in the front, on the right.”

“Thanks, Peggy. Now let’s go to sleep. We don’t want to get in trouble.”

“Too late,” she sighed. “I got in trouble about eight and a half months ago. Big trouble.”

You can say that again.

WEDNESDAY, May 5 — I didn’t think I would be able to sleep a wink, but Peggy’s sonorous breathing soothed my flayed nerves and I soon dropped off. Fortunately, the electronic chirpings of my tiny alarm clock roused me at 3:45 a.m. without waking the slumbering volcano. I rose in the darkness, removed my nightie, extracted a miniature flashlight from my purse, and
slipped stealthily down the stairs. The house was as still as a tomb. Creeping along the narrow corridor, I came to the room I guessed was My Love’s and opened the door. I could just make out two beds, both occupied.

“Oh, excuse me,” Deirdre announced. “I was looking for Sheeni Saunders.”

I closed the door and waited in the hall. Twenty seconds later my own precious darling emerged wearing extremely unbecoming pajamas.

“Who are you?” she whispered. “What do you want?”

“It’s me, Sheeni. Rick.”

“Rick! What the …?”

“Shhhh. We haven’t much time. Let’s go.”

We slipped into the downstairs bathroom, closed the door, and switched on the light. No lock on the door, naturally, and not even a mirror on the wall.

“Don’t kiss me, Rick,” protested My Love, “I haven’t brushed my teeth. And don’t look at me either. I don’t have any makeup on and I know I look terrible. Why are you dressed like that?”

“You look great, darling. It’s a long story. We don’t have much time.”

I took two red felt-tip pens from my purse and handed one to her. “You do me, Sheeni, and I’ll do you. The idea is to apply a fine red rash extending down the face from the hairline.”

“Accomplishing exactly what?” she demanded.

“We’re attempting to simulate German measles,” I said, setting to work disfiguring My Love.

“That’s brilliant, Rick,” she said, going to work on me with equal enthusiasm. “The highly contagious Rubella virus can wreak havoc on a developing fetus. But will this fool anyone?”

“All we can do is try, darling.”

We spoke in low tones as we dotted away.

“Oh, Rick darling, I’m so glad to see you. However did you find me?”

“It required some enterprising investigative work.”

“You should have finished off my father, Rick. He betrayed me! He only pretended to be on my side so I wouldn’t run away before they could stick me in this fascistic hell-hole.”

“Parents suck, Sheeni. They’re not to be trusted.”

“You did a nice job on your makeup, Rick, but my friend Nick makes a better-looking girl. Your features are a bit too masculine. Oh, I never noticed you had pierced ears.”

“Uh, yeah, I had a girlfriend once who liked that look on men. Please excuse the cheesy earrings.”

“Who are you supposed to be?”

“I’m Deirdre. She’s not too bright.”

“No girl’s very bright if she winds up in this place.”

“Don’t worry, Sheeni. Just play along with everything I say.”

Our faces now done, we applied the red rash to our necks and chests, enabling me to cop a cheap feel for old time’s sake. My Love didn’t seem to mind. When we finished, we stepped back and checked each other out. At least to a couple of laypersons, we looked decidedly unwell.

“That’s great, Sheeni. Now try to raise your temperature.”

“How do I do that?”

“Think about your deceitful father. And remember to puff out your cheeks so you look like you have swollen glands.”

Ditching the pens in the tank of the ancient toilet, I sent Sheeni ahead to rouse the Fairchilds while I lurked in the hallway. I heard a commotion of voices from their bedroom, then a moment later My Love returned looking ill but happy.

“I have to get dressed,” she whispered. “Eugenia’s taking me to the hospital. Waldo went out to bring in the dogs.”

I gave her a thumbs-up sign, puffed out my cheeks, placed
a weary hand against my feverish forehead, and shuffled down the corridor to the front entry where a grim-faced Eugenia was tossing on her coat.

“Ooh, I don’t feel so good,” I moaned.

“Not you too!” she exclaimed. “Damn, I better go check everyone. You stay here.”

Five minutes later My Love and I were hurtling along the deserted, still-dark streets in Eugenia Home’s large rusty van—an angrily muttering Eugenia behind the wheel. For being so devout, the woman sure can sling the profanities. Waldo stayed behind to supervise the preparation of the morning gruel.

Despite the earliness of the hour, the emergency department of the hospital was bustling with disease and distress. After waiting what seemed like an eternity, but by the clock was only 20 minutes, Sheeni and Deirdre were summoned to the counter and asked a lot of probing medical questions by the admitting nurse. Then we had our temperatures and blood pressures taken, were handed green hospital gowns, and were escorted down a corridor to adjacent examination rooms, where we were directed to strip and put on the gowns.

Since Sheeni was the actual paying client, Eugenia accompanied her. I sat fully dressed on the cold examination table in the sterile room and forced myself to count slowly to one hundred. Then I dashed into the room next door, where my feverish love was clutching the open-backed gown to her naked torso and a glum Eugenia was sneaking an illicit cigarette.

“Mrs. Fairchild!” Deirdre exclaimed breathlessly. “Your husband just phoned! Your house is on fire!”

Eugenia turned a pleasant shade of Arctic White. “Oh my God!” she gasped.

“You go on ahead,” I said. “We’ll be OK here.”

“Don’t you dare leave,” she warned.

“I’m not going anywhere,” moaned my puffed-out love, playing her part wonderfully. She lay back on the examination table in a swoon as Eugenia snuffed out her cigarette on the floor and rushed from the room. I watched as our guardian paused to speak to a nurse, then hurried out through the double exit doors.

“OK, let’s go.” I said.

“Wait, Rick! I have to put on my clothes.”

“No time, Sheeni,” I said, grabbing her neatly folded stack of frumpy Eugenia Home raiments. “You can dress in the car. Let’s go.”

I peered out the doorway, saw that the coast was clear, and waved her to follow me. We headed up the corridor away from the nurses’ station, and went through a door marked “Authorized personnel only. No admittance.” This put us in a room full of buzzing medical machines. We crossed the room, went through a door, darted down another corridor, and came out in a hospital ward, where we were stopped by a beefy male nurse.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

“A man in the emergency room!” I shrieked. “He’s got a gun!”

The alarmed nurse raced off in one direction; we fled in the other. Down another corridor, through two more doors, into some kind of locker room, out the employees’ entrance, up a concrete ramp, and we were in the parking lot. Ducking low, we wove our way among the parked cars, traversed a landscaped expanse of grass, crossed the street, turned a corner, and darted up a side street. There, still parked at the curb where I had left it, was my rad Escort. I could have kissed its rusty essence. I even found my keys in Deirdre’s purse and the door locks still worked. Feeling optimistic, I shoved in the clutch and turned the key in the ignition. Futile grinding noises.

“Rick, it won’t start!” exclaimed My Love.

“Don’t worry,” I said, shifting the stick into neutral and grabbing a can of miracle fluid. “When I give the signal, you turn the key.”

I opened the hood and fed my hungry carb a big gulp of starter fluid. Then, just to be on the safe side, I sprayed a second generous spritz. At that moment I heard the starter click over and a billowing red cloud of flame erupted from the carburetor. It seemed like I had forever to contemplate its fiery roilings as it rose up, expanded, grew progressively nearer, and then inexorably engulfed my face and head. I felt an echoing eruption of pain as my flesh seared, my glasses melted, and my polyester wig ignited. I knocked off the smoldering glasses and clutched my hands to my raging face; someone screamed nearby and I felt a hand pull off my burning wig.

“Oh God, Rick!” My Love exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

I was not all right. I flung open the passenger door, reached inside, found Sheeni’s folded dress, and pressed it against my tormented face. The raging pain eased slightly.

“Oh God, Rick, should I go get some help?”

“No, Sheeni!” I slumped forward in the passenger seat. “I’ll be OK. You’ll have to drive.” At least my sadistic engine was idling like a top.

“But, Rick, I’ve never driven before!”