Revolting Youth: The Further Journals of Nick Twisp (8 page)

10:45 a.m. Sorry, God, church was just not on our agenda today. I microwaved some frozen tamales, and we breakfasted in bed with the Sunday paper. My dad, I’m semi-happy to report, has been sprung from jail. Authorities now believe the virus was planted on his computer by “technologically sophisticated eco-terrorists.” The page-one article noted that former suspect George W. Twisp has divulged to police that “a large sum of money and many valuable items” had disappeared recently from his home. What a liar!

While Sheeni took a leisurely hot bath, I made a call to keep my half of the bargain.

“Hello, Vijay,” I said, “let me speak to your father.”

“Who is this?”

“None of your fucking business.”

Mr. Joshi came on the line. I gave it to him short and sweet.

“Your daughter is honeymooning with Trent in the South. She’ll be home on Wednesday.” Click.

Bet I made their day.

2:35 p.m. Sheeni just left in a huff because I refused to divulge Trent’s exact location in Mississippi. My Love expressed a desire to phone the twit. As if a guy needs to interrupt his romantic honeymoon to take a call from a former girlfriend, even if all she claimed she wanted to do was “wish them both hearty congratulations.” I suggested she send them a card. I know etiquette is on my side on this issue, and I was making that exact point when Sheeni slammed the door.

Still somewhat jet-lagged, Carlotta sat in the sun on the back porch and watched Fuzzy and Lana wash Granny DeFalco’s cherry 1965 Ford Falcon. It will be his to drive in 14 months and 23 days (he’s counting down the hours to his sixteenth birthday, when he can get his license). For now he has to content himself with driving his car in and out of the garage, and revving the engine to impress chicks. From the boisterous way they were squirting each other with the hose, I gathered that things had not gone too badly on my pal’s first date.

8:40 p.m. The Weather Channel reports another big storm is headed toward the South. Looks like I got out just in time. With any luck, the newlyweds may be holed-up in that motel all week with nothing to do but exhaust their supply of defective prophylactics. Surely that elusive G-spot has been located by now.

•    •    •

MONDAY, March 8 — School today was abuzz with rumors of a Preston-Joshi merger. Half the girls in my classes looked like they were in shock and the other half appeared to be in deep mourning. Heartsick Sonya in clothing technology class was totally out of control.

“If Trent married that girl,” she declared to Carlotta, “I’m going to kill myself. Right after I murder you.”

“What did I do?” I asked, alarmed.

“You introduced me to him. You got my hopes up, girl.”

“Well, meet me in the cafeteria at noon and I’ll introduce you to my neighbor, Bruno Modjaleski. He’s a fabulous kisser.”

“Bruno Modjaleski is a pig,” she retorted. “Besides, everyone knows he’s going with Candy Pringle. And I very much doubt he ever kissed you.”

“Want to bet $50?”

“You’re on, pimple toes.”

Sheeni was pretty frosty toward me in physics class. I wasn’t sure if she was pissed at me, attempting to quell vicious rumors, preoccupied with the hydrogen atom, disturbed by rumors of my bet, or simply anticipating future Carlotta snubbing in gym.

Another traumatic embarrassment in the cafeteria. Of course, with Candy Pringle snacking on a slimming cheerleader’s lunch in the chair beside him, Bruno had to deny everything. Carlotta turned a violent shade of scarlet and was forced to pay off Sonya right on the spot just to shut up her big fat mouth. What a humiliation, especially with you-know-who yucking it up with Vijay at the next table over.

Fuzzy questioned my sanity on the walk home from school.

“Carlotta, why are you spreading it all over school that you made out with Bruno?” he demanded.

“I’m not, Frank. It just seemed like an easy way to make fifty bucks. And why aren’t you walking Lana home?”

“Her brother gives her a ride. They live way back up in the hills somewhere.”

“Perhaps they’re trying to re-create their West Virginia milieu. So how was your date?”

“Great. We had pizza downtown. Then we walked to the Little League park and smoked a joint in the visitors’ dugout.”

“Where’d you get the reefer?”

“From Lana. We smoked one in the Falcon yesterday too. It was awesome. I thought my brain was going to explode.”

“So she has a great body and access to powerful hallucinogenics. I told you I can pick them. What base did you get to?”

“Well, I’m sort of working up to holding her hand.”

“Frank, you’d only known Heather for three hours when you made it to home base.”

“True, but Heather ran a pretty fast offense. Did Lana say anything about me?”

“She said you were tons of fun and really smart.”

“Cool. When did she say that?”

“This afternoon in the locker room. You might call it the naked truth.”

Fuzzy punched Carlotta in the arm.

“Brute! How dare you strike a woman!”

“Yeah, well just keep your filthy eyeballs off my chick.”

5:45 p.m. Carlotta received another unexpected blow when she walked in her front door. The table was set for five. Making themselves at home were my new cook and chauffeur. Bored with being snowed in and worried about their parents, Trent and Apurva had decided to bail on their honeymoon. Already Apurva was in the kitchen showing Mrs. Ferguson how to make vegetarian meatloaf. Trent was petting Albert on the sofa and listening
politely to dim Dwayne boast how his dog Kamu could “bite the head off” Apurva’s dog Jean-Paul.

8:05 p.m. Our next shipment of Wart Watches had better sell out in a hurry. Trent eats like he’s at the training table of the Chicago Bears. Marriage in general seems to be good for the appetite. I only pray Apurva was eating for two. All through the meal I could sense Trent was wondering why Carlotta insists on dining with repulsive Dwayne. Hey guy, I don’t like the cretin any more than you do.

Serving seconds on dessert, Mrs. Ferguson was dumbfounded to discover that Trent and wife somehow had visited Memphis without touring Graceland.

“And what is Graceland?” inquired Apurva.

Mrs. Ferguson staggered back from this blow.

“It’s Elvis Presley’s home,” explained her husband. “It’s now open to the public.”

“You have … heard of Elvis … ain’t ya?” asked my maid.

“Certainly,” replied Apurva. “He’s that heavyset singer who died many years before I was born.”

If Apurva regards Elvis as ancient history, I can only imagine what she thinks of Frank.

After dinner Trent took Carlotta aside and requested a $100 advance on my first month’s car rental. I paid him in cash and told him to park the Acura out of sight in the alley behind the garage. Then Apurva helped me move my stuff out of the bedroom, which Carlotta is graciously giving up (but only temporarily!) to the newlyweds. Believe it or not, I’ll be bedding down tonight on the sofa in the living room.

Oh well, I keep reminding myself that at least Trent is married—just as those aging Vietnam War protesters make the best of things by reminding themselves that at least Richard Nixon is dead.

10:20 p.m. Thank God Sheeni didn’t call or come over. I did have one visitor: Bruno Modjaleski, who knocked on my front door to apologize for being a lying weasel.

“I’m sorry I cost you the fifty, Carly. But I’m going to make it up to you.”

“Good,” replied Carlotta, folding her arms over her nightgown and not letting him in. “I could use the money.”

“Yeah, I decided to pay you back with $50 worth of kisses.”

Before I could slam the door, the brute grabbed me and made his first installment right there on the front stoop. A fate worse than death (especially the ass grope) and I didn’t even get it down on video to show Sonya.

TUESDAY, March 9 — Another unfortunate development, diary. Let me begin by noting that I am a sound sleeper. This is why I did not hear the key turn in the lock sometime around midnight, nor hear the person enter. The room was dark and their view into the living room (where Carlotta was sleeping) was partially screened by the new entertainment center cabinet extending out from the wall to form a de facto entry foyer for my tiny home. I surmise that the person proceeded quietly down the hallway to the bathroom, where they removed their garments. Ever-useless Albert, locked in the kitchen, raised no alarm. They then tiptoed across the hall to the bedroom, where—while attempting to slip beneath the covers—they encountered the lightly clad voluptuous form of a sleeping female. Waking in surprise, Apurva leaped to what for her might have been a logical conclusion and shouted, “No, Carlotta, this is not right! No!”

Her husband woke up; Carlotta jolted awake and dashed into the bedroom just as angry Trent switched on the light. Everyone gasped. On the other side of the bed was My Love, coming to the traumatic realization that she was standing nude in a room with her former childhood sweetheart and his new wife.

Time slowed way down to drag out the shock and horror as eyes met eyes around the room.

“Sheeni!” Trent expostulated.

Apurva moved her lips, but no sounds emerged.

Carlotta’s mind spun like a slot machine, but nothing came up.

At last My Love broke the impasse. She folded her arms over her nakedness and walked silently from the room. Open-mouthed, Trent and Apurva gazed questioningly at Carlotta.

“Er,” Carlotta mumbled, “she must have, uh, come to the wrong house … by mistake.”

A moment later My Love had tossed on her clothes and fled out the front door. I grabbed Trent’s raincoat off a hook, threw it on over Carlotta’s nightgown, and hurried after her down the darkened sidewalk.

“Sheeni! Wait! Stop!”

My Love turned, hit me in the eye with a small metallic object, and stomped on.

I picked up the discarded key and hurried after her.

“I’m sorry,” I said, catching up with her. “I’m really sorry.”

She did not slow or look at me. “I have never been so humiliated.”

“I know, darling, it’s, it’s … regrettable.”

“Don’t call me ‘darling.’ You are such a scumbag. How can I face them ever again? How can I face anyone in this damn town?”

“Sheeni, could we slow up here?”

Still declining to look at me, My Love quickened her pace. “You say you love me, but you never tell me anything. I’ve had it with your deceptions.”

“Sheeni, they just showed up a few hours ago. How was I supposed to tell you? I had no idea you were coming over. I mean, I was trying to do you a favor.”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

“I was! I was trying to help out your old boyfriend. I gave up my bed to them, for Christ’s sake. And I don’t even like the guy!”

Sheeni slackened her pace. “This entire evening has been a disaster. I had a fight with my parents. So I sneaked out of the house … looking for solace.”

Carlotta put my arm around her shoulder. “What was the fight about, darling?”

“Trent. What else? Oh, Nickie, I’m so embarrassed. You have to think of something to tell them—so they won’t think I’m a …”

“Yes, I know. OK, darling, I’ll give it a shot.”

Sheeni stopped and we embraced in the shadows beneath a street tree. “Oh, Nickie, Trent really is married. I can see that now.”

Well I should hope so.

“Yes, Sheeni darling, and we’re two underage minors out past the curfew on a school night on a street that’s well-patrolled by cops.”

My Love grabbed back her key, gave me a quick kiss, and darted off into the night. I sneaked home, observed the light was off again in the bedroom, and retired to my lonely sofa. I had six hours to manufacture a plausible explanation for the events that had just transpired.

8:20 a.m. “I’m gay,” Carlotta announced.

We were breakfasting uneasily around Granny DeFalco’s old yellow chrome dinette.

“We gathered as much,” replied Trent, gazing intently at his Cheerios.

“We value that you are able to share that with us,” added his wife, also avoiding eye-contact.

“It’s a shame there are so many unenlightened people in this town,” said Trent, pouring a second helping of cereal. “We appreciate your need for discretion.”

“Thank you for being so understanding,” blushed Carlotta.

“And Sheeni too?” ventured Apurva.

“Yes, of course,” I replied. “She’s known since she was in kindergarten.”

Trent put down his spoon and flashed Carlotta a tremulous smile. Sensing I was messing profoundly with his world view, I sipped my instant coffee and pressed on.

“But she’s not ready to tell anyone yet. In fact, she asked me to make up some kind of plausible lie for what happened last night. As if I could.”

“She must be very disturbed,” said Apurva. “I do feel sorry for her. But it is also a great relief to me. I have spent too many hours worrying that my darling Trent was not entirely over her.”

Trent patted her hand. “Don’t be silly, honey.”

“Carlotta,” said Apurva, “once again you have made me very happy.”

And once again I have made Trent perfectly miserable. What could be better than that?

11:15 a.m. Sheeni cornered Carlotta this morning in the hallway outside physics class.

“Carlotta,” she whispered, “what did you tell them?”

“Mostly the truth,” I lied. “I said you had a fight with your parents. That you had heard about the storms back east and were under the impression that Carlotta was still in Mississippi. So you let yourself into my house with the key I had given you to take care of Albert. End of story.”

“Carlotta, you’re a genius.”

Thus noble falsehood triumphs again over evil truth.

“I do my best, Sheeni.”

“Where are they now?”

“They went to see Trent’s parents. They invited me to come along, but I declined the pleasure.”

I have enough parental problems without taking on Trent’s.

1:30 p.m. Giving up her accustomed seat at the Shunned Loners’ table, Carlotta accepted an invitation from Sheeni and vile Vijay to eat lunch with them. The latter adopted a transparently insincere cordiality in pumping Carlotta for details about his sister’s wedding. I said it was a simple but moving ceremony that was a testament to the Southern Way of Life.