Revoltingly Young (7 page)

“
I didn’t know we were supposed to bring any,” I bellowed back.

“
You have to put something on the tree!” she insisted. “Something personal!”

I removed my shirt, peeled off my sweaty t-shirt, and flung it at the tree. The crowd roared its approval. Nothing like the sight of bare flesh (even mine) to pick up the party pace.

We timed our arrival well. The doorbell rang and a harassed-looking older guy marched in with 14 large pizzas. A massive order, but his premonition came true. He left without a tip. During the ensuing gorging someone was heard to say loudly, “Oh, they’re nothing but trailer trash.” Then everyone made a point of politely not looking at me. Guess I know where I stand with that crowd.

Forty-five minutes later all that remained were a few picked-over crusts. The beer was gone too, and we were reduced to drinking a “punch” mixed by Drew from the contents of Mr. Glasgow’s liquor cabinet. By then we had joined a group lounging out on the patio around a blazing outdoor fireplace. Nights in the high desert can be cool even in summer, so the cheery warmth was welcome–if not leather-clad Cody Wangston and his guitar. That guy is such a poseur. And applauding him politely after every song just encourages the twit. Still, I got to park right next to Uma, though I was too chicken to put my arm around her. All that booze had yet to weaken Inhibition One, although it was playing havoc with my bladder. Every ten minutes I had to stumble off toward the bushes to piss out another gallon.

“
You OK, Noel?” Uma asked at one point.

“
Never better,” I slurred. “Need a refill?”

“
No, I’m fine for now. What is it we’re drinking?”

“
Don’t ask me. Tastes like they drained it out of a prairie dog.”

“
Hey, Noel,” called cute Allison Linden, addressing me for the first time in her glamorous life. “Where’s that big cousin of yours?”

“
Went back to L.A.”

“
I hear he actually warmed up Stoney Holt.”

“
Yup, all us Wescotts are catnip to chicks.”

“
Shhh,” hissed some girl behind us. “We’re trying to hear Cody.”

Hey, what is this? A goddam folk concert? Uma and I retreated to the house–now a dim scene of intensive writhing in every room. Dasan had turned down the volume and turned up the make-out music.

“
How you doin’, Noel,” he said. “I ran into your buddy Carlyle Bogy today. What’s with that dude?”

“
He’s sincere, Dasan. He genuinely wants to be black.”

“
Well, you better remind him he ain’t passin’ the physical. Good thing he’s out here in the sticks. If he tried that act in Vegas, he’d be askin’ for trouble. The brothers down there don’t take that shit.”

Formerly a contented resident of Nevada’s largest city, Dasan had been dragged kicking and screaming to Winnemucca when his dad (a Highway Patrol cop) was transferred to this district.

“
Yeah, I know.”

“
I hear you took over Rot Dugan’s slave job.”

“
Uh-huh,” I admitted, coloring.

“
Man, they got some weird crackers in this burg. It’s like the Twilight Zone out here. Am I right, Uma?”

“
You are so right, Dasan,” she replied, exchanging high fives with him.

I handed him a coupon.

“
That’s good for $10 off our deluxe adore ceremony,” I explained. “Drop by anytime.”

“
I might do that,” he replied. “You busy tomorrow, Uma?”

At long last, the booze kicked in.

“
Sorry, she’s taken,” I said, grasping her warm hand and planting a wet one firmly on her lips.

To my utter astonishment, she kissed me back.

Uma also let me hold her hand on the walk home. I switched my iPod back on to prolong the holiday mood.

“
What other kinds of music do you like, Noel?” she asked.

“
Lately I’ve been obsessing on the Frantic Couplings.”

“
They’re hot,” she agreed. “But didn’t they break up?”

“
No, they just had to interrupt their tour because the lead guitarist had some psychotic episodes.”

“
Can’t they medicate him?”

“
They tried, but the music sucked. Say, where’d you get that jockstrap?”

“
Why? Are you missing one?”

“
No, it just doesn’t seem like something the average girl carries around in her purse.”

“
Do I strike you as being average?”

“
Hardly.”

“
Glad to hear it. I happened to have that item because–”

At that moment something large sailed out of the night and splattered against the back of my head, drenching me in an icy, sticky liquid. Another large balloon wobbled down out of the sky and slammed into Uma’s chest.

“
What the fuck!” she screamed.

We stood there dripping in stunned surprise. In the distance: the sound of fast-retreated footsteps and laughter.

“
Did you see who it was?” I exclaimed.

“
I saw, all right. It was your fucking friend Stoney Holt. And some black guy.”

Stabbed in the back by my own gang brothers!

Uma did not let me help dry her off. She hurried up the walk to her door, muttered a fast “Good night!” and abandoned me kiss-less, forlorn, and sticky on the stoop.

I tasted a moist finger. Dr. Pepper: Carlyle’s longtime beverage of choice. At least it wasn’t pig’s blood or cat piss.

Now is the time for the terrible reprisals to begin.

MONDAY, July 11 – I pleaded with Grandma to give Stoney nothing but rotten haircuts from now on, but she refused, citing “professional ethics.” She advised me to “get over it” as “boys will be boys.” She must have forgotten that she was dealing with a Twisp. As my mother demonstrated, our minimum level of retribution is castration by bullet. So I email Tyler that Stoney was cheating on him with Cody Wangston, northern Nevada’s answer to Bob Dylan. Then I used my spray-paint stash to scrawl “sucks” over all the Upt gang graffiti I could find. That’s called hurting a guy where he lives.

I’ve left four messages on Uma’s phone with no reply so far. How can she blame me for the depravity of my former friends? That is so unfair.

4:27 p.m. Toby was on his way to the Silver Sluice with a bouquet of very expensive roses, when he was detoured by a marital summons from Mr. Dugan. The stupid bride assumed they were for her! I handed them over because she looked to be in her 87
^th
week of pregnancy and how could you say “no” to a person that distended? At least she was landing a husband before the Big Event, although the groom (a tattooed redneck–or is that redundant?) made a point of noting that he wasn’t to blame for the “peckerwood in the oven.” Standing next to that perfumed blimp, I decided that any children Uma and I have will be through adoption only. Motherhood is just too gross to experience firsthand. Hell, I’d get a vasectomy right now if I could get Grandma to sign the consent form.

After the ceremony Mrs. Dugan thanked Toby for his “beautiful and generous” gesture. Wiping her eyes, she said it reaffirmed her faith in “you young people.” Damn. There goes any hope of getting reimbursed by my employers for my pricey flowers. Now empty-handed, I strolled over to the Silver Sluice, where I was immediately intercepted by fat Marvin.

“
Hey, that wasn’t my dad! They didn’t have no medical emergency up’ the Senior Center!”

“
Does your father drive an old red pickup with the spare tire mounted on the side?”

“
Yeah, it’s a Chevy. A ’53.”

“
Well, a truck like that just careered off the I-95 overpass!”

“
Shit!” bellowed Marvin, hurrying toward the door. “I’m third in line to inherit that truck!”

Uma eyed me coolly as Toby approached her kiosk.

“
You’re such a liar, Noel Wescott.”

Well at least she was speaking to me.

“
And
you
don’t return people’s phone calls,” Toby pointed out.

“
I don’t recall ever giving you my phone number. And it’s not in the book either.”

“
No, but luckily it’s programmed into Mary Glasgow’s speed-dialer.”

“
So, you’re a sneak too. I might have expected as much.”

“
I’m very sorry about what happened, Uma. I have terminated my friendship with those responsible. I even bought you a very nice mixed bouquet of roses.”

“
Which is where exactly?”

“
Which is brightening the wedding day of an expectant mother. There was a slight misunderstanding just now at the Dixie Belle.”

“
I don’t think I appreciate not receiving your very nice flowers. The gesture seems rather hollow.”

“
Not according to Mrs. Dugan. She thought it was extremely touching. Would you like to speak to her on my cell phone?”

“
Not particularly. You will have to buy something if you intend to monopolize my time here.”

Toby selected two Payday candy bars; Uma ran them under her scanner. I paid, then offered one to her. She leaned back and unwrapped it warily. Did she imagine I had sneaked in earlier and sabotaged the sweets?

“
What is it you want, Noel Wescott?” she asked, munching her peanutty bar.

“
Uhmm, I don’t know,” I said.

I did know, of course, but somehow I didn’t feel this was the right time to bring up marriage.

“
I, I’d like to be your friend,” I continued, nibbling nervously on my bar.

Uma sighed.

“
You know, Noel, women like chocolate. Indeed, for most of us it’s an essential. Yet this is
not
a chocolate bar. The first thing you have ever given me, besides my non-existent flowers, is an inappropriate candy bar. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

My mind reeled. I didn’t quite see her point.

“
Do you know what Scott Chandler brought me before he left for that stupid sailing camp?”

“
What?”

“
A two-pound box of chocolates.”

Damn that thoughtful mariner!

“
And do you know what I did with his lovely chocolates?”

“
No. What?”

“
I brought them here and put them out in the employee lounge. Did that idiot imagine I was going to eat two pounds of fattening candy?”

“
The cad should be shot,” I noted.

“
Well, guys are living on their own planet. That’s all there is to it.”

“
So, uh, Uma, would you like to go out again?”

“
Not particularly, Noel. But thanks for asking.”

Uma turned away to hustle sunglasses to three priests. Crushed, Toby wandered off into the blazing heat of the raw Nevada day.

Suicide or murder? Which do you suppose is the more appropriate course?

TUESDAY, July 12 – I’m a mess. Vast leakage last night and rampant thumb oralfication. Meanwhile, Stoney Holt persists in dropping by, even though I have informed her that her loathsome person is anathema to me. Were she not so physically intimidating, I believe we might have come to blows this morning.

“
So she dumped you for good, huh?” she commented, helping herself unbidden to the last breakfast roll on the premises. “Well, you should thank me.”

I resisted a very strong impulse to grab a steak knife from the drawer.

“
You’re insane.”

“
She’s a B.G., Noel. This ‘incident’ as you call it proves it. Got any herbal tea?”

“
Some friend! You’re wrecking my life.”

“
No tea, huh? Face it, Noel, only a first-class bitch goddess would react the way she did to a little hazing. Believe me, I know the type. She’s nothing but trouble.”

“
I’m going to call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.”

“
What you need to do, Noel, is get a life. And while you’re at it, get a little emotional backbone. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Am I pissed at you for all the lies you told Tyler about me? Hell, yes. But am I going off the deep end? No way. I know the sun doesn’t rise and set on your cousin.”

“
He’s my goddam nephew. I hope every person you ever go out with dumps you in the cruelest way possible.”

“
That’s a very nasty thing to wish on anyone, Noel.”

“
I mean it. I consider you a human plague. If you were a bug, I’d step on you.”

“
And if you were a man, I would punch you out. But fortunately for you, you’re just a little bed-wetting creep. Thanks for the pastry.”

“
Thanks for dropping dead as soon as possible. And don’t slam the door on your way out.”

She flipped me both fingers and slammed the door. Shaking all over, I sat down and tried to think of one happy thought. Tertiary leprosy, I thought. I can be grateful I don’t have tertiary leprosy.

9:45 p.m. A busy day. Five weddings and two adore ceremonies. My tips have gone way up since Toby’s been so emotionally on edge (and, embarrassingly, a bit weepy). Clients must assume the darky is sniffling at their happiness. I appreciate the extra income and have noted it in the column headed “Reasons Not To Commit Suicide.” So far, my list is not very compelling.