Welcome to Braggsville (12 page)

Worry's good for 'em. Ain't it, fellas? Louis and Charlie nodded. Candice, you don't respect no man who don't worry you none, ain't that right, girl?

Candice bit her lips, a thoughtful look on her face. Sometimes women are like wild horses. You have to earn the right to saddle them. She finished with her nose in the air and excused herself to prepare for bed.

Couldn't have said it better. The
A-Team
theme song sounded from Quint's waist. He jumped to his feet. Shit! Mad cow on the move. I'll be heading out, too. Catch y'all tomorrow night. My place, right? An evening of guns with occasional music. Chez Quint.

Daron bet he spelled it with an
s,
judging by his pronunciation.

Hell yeah. You got some Vince Gill? Louis juked his neck like he could already hear Gill, Paisley, and Co. performing
Cluster Pluck
.

No. Ain't playing no new shit. Merle Haggard. Bocephus. Ted Nugent.

Just checking. Gotta make sure you're keeping it real . . . country.

You a funny motherfucker, he told Louis. Loose Chang. I like that. That shit makes you sound Bangkok. Like you could smite a mother.

Louis leaned back in his chair and stroked the thin beard he'd been struggling to grow for the last two years. Smite. That's Old Testament. With a glint in his eye, he added, Like I know kung fu and shit?

No. Like you just motherfuckin' crazy, like a Coke that's all shook up and waiting for a sucker to pop the top.

Quint tousled Daron's hair. Get some rest. Tomorrow's a big day.

After he left, Daron listened closely for Candice's voice, fighting the urge to go see if Quint was in the hall close-talking her.

Your cuz is the shit.

Charlie nodded his agreement.

That hung in the air for a few minutes. Charlie and Louis sat on the end of the bed, Daron settled into his beanbag, still on Cali time.

Louis was fidgety, Did they like me?

Oh yeah, they were laughing. Daron nodded.

You were awesome, fucking rocking, dude!

I hope I didn't offend anyone.

Maybe my mom when you stood on the furniture, but don't you always say it's the comic's job to offend? The full five-finger slap, right?

It's your family.

Isn't that the first shell to crack? Like Zeus killing the Titans?

It's your fam, and they're good peeps. Comics want to offend assholes.

I don't think anyone was offended. One of my cousins wants you to hang at his bachelor party in a couple of days.

Ice, ice, baby! If you can play off a black or Southern audience, you're killing it like a real comic. Now I need to perform for a black audience. A real one, like Oakland or Atlanta, not like a school student group.

Charlie, who had been fiddling with his phone, tapped the screen. Here's your chance. This weekend in Atlanta there's an open mic. Two-minute first round. Kill that, you get a five-minute second round. Kill that, the final is three people at ten minutes each next weekend. Want in? All you need is a two-minute audition video. He pointed to his phone.

How far away is Atlanta?

Does it matter? It can't be far. It's in the same state.

Three hours.

Sign me up.

Louis stood in the chair, Ladies and gentlemen, hailing from the West Coast, also known as the Left Coast, which is the Best Coast.
From the heart of the Bay straight to you in
A
. . . TL. It's Loose Chang, also known as Lenny Bruce Lee. If you don't laugh, you better duck. With a grand sweep of the arm, he gestured at Charlie, You got that?

Charlie waved his phone. I recorded you earlier. I'll edit it down and shoot it to them later.

What was that wild horses shit? asked Louis, putting on the Afro wig.

If you must ask—Charlie smirked—there's no use explaining. What was that Methuselah shit?

It means everybody knows something, like it's common knowledge. Look, serious question again. Who told my parents?

We told you already.

Daron had asked them earlier and they'd both denied it. Who told them what we're planning? he asked again.

Louis and Charlie shook their heads.

My father was all like, Call it off, son. Call it off. Someone had to tell him.

What does it matter anyway?

We had an agreement. It was supposed to go better if no one knew what we were planning, then it would be more of a surprise and we would catch their real reactions. If everyone knows, then they'll ignore it as a joke, and you all will say they're fucked up. That's not fair.

I think they might be a little fucked up any way you grate it, D.

The whole town is a Confederate museum, replied Louis, holding his hands up palm out. I'm not saying your whole town is housist or anything!

Housist!
Housist
was Louis-speak for racist, invoked after Daron tried explaining that just because someone preferred a mansion didn't mean they'd torch a ranch. Housist, Loose?

Charlie nodded his agreement. You ask Candice yet? Maybe she said something.

Housist, Loose?

This is damn near the only house without a Confederate battle flag and those creepy statues in the front yards. He elbowed Daron, and added, You know what I mean, the ones that look like Charlie.

D
ARON FOUND
C
ANDICE IN THE LIVING ROOM
on the couch next to Quint, almost head-to-head, leafing through a photo album balanced on Candice's knees so that Quint had to reach across her lap to turn a page, which he did at that moment, grazing Candice's shoulder as he did so, her face turning to his when he pulled back. Daron gently removed the album from Candice's hands.

Come on, man, I thought
The A-Team
was your emergency signal. He helped his cousin to his feet.

Can he drive? whispered Candice as Quint stumbled toward the door. Daron waved the question off.

I showed her the baby pictures, drunk-whispered Quint, so no matter what, your Oscar'll look giant. He held his hands far apart, as if describing a mythical fish. Fucking foot long!

When Daron didn't respond, Quint added, C'mon, D, shit. He eyed Candice. Lotion look out! I'm investing in tissues and lotion. There's also liquid soap, your mom's got a ton of that. You have to use more and it makes more of a mess, but it smells nicer. On the other foot, it'll make you scaly as a snake. Quint leaned on Daron for support. You got yourself a love square.

You mean quadrangle. I don't think so.

She likes you, my main man Loose likes her, and if it was 1990 the black dude would be twirling a phone cord around his index every time he talked to you. He counted on his fingers. Four makes a square.

Twirling a phone cord around his index? Once Daron understood, he laughed it off, even as he ran through a mental list of Charlie's female friends, and they were many, never mind that he never
referred to them as girlfriends. Whatever Charlie had done that made Quint think he was gay, Daron didn't want to hear about it tonight. He guided a stumbling Quint outside before he could expound on his ridiculous love square theory. Quint's last words: Be real. As he peeled out of the driveway, Candice called out from the living room, asking again if Quint would be all right.

Daron swaggered back into the room before answering. That's how he always drives. What's he gonna do, kill a tree? You can't tell, but he's at his best. NASCAR? We own that shit.
Dukes of Hazzard
? That, too. Daron didn't ask Candice if she had mentioned anything to his parents. She was too smart to do that.

Oscar? Isn't that what Quint called . . . it? Too cute. She tucked her legs under her chin.

It? Shit. Daron sat next to her, and explained that his first sex ed lesson had starred a hot dog, a frozen chicken, two marbles, and a baseball. Just thinking about it sent flames crawling up his face. He wondered for a moment if that explained his reaction to Tweety, but dismissed the thought as too Freudian, and he and Louis avoided all things Freudian, going so far as to threaten lapses with, I'll slap your dick with this psychology textbook. All I remember is being terrified after that sex ed lesson because Chamber, our German shepherd, ate the expectant mother. I didn't eat chicken for weeks.

Candice laughed heartily. How he had missed that.

You gobbled up the Sanders' fried chicken without complaint. This she delivered without so much humor. The Sanders were the family that had fed them at Six Flags. From the sound of it, Candice had liked the Southerners no more than Charlie had.

Louis and Charlie must have powered up his PSP because Daron heard the
Grand Theft Auto IV
theme song, tinny and distant, as it always sounded on those little speakers. They were occupied. Good.

I'm sorry the Ishi thing didn't work out. He had wanted to say it for weeks. Candice had been glum ever since the performative
intervention at Six Flags went haywire. He should have said nothing, apparently, because Candice stiffened then stood.

They regarded each other—warily, it felt to Daron.

It was my fault, Daron, not anyone else's. I should have planned better. As she said this, she turned away and inspected the pictures on the mantel: reunions, school photos, Quint in his perennial Halloween costume—a policeman, D'aron and his father standing over a buck.

You shot this?

No.

Really?

That's the last year I went hunting with him.

Bet he didn't like that.

Nope. Not at all, he answered, pride apparent even to him. Want another beer?

No thanks. She sat down again and he followed suit. It was their first time alone together in a while. There had been a cooling-down period after Six Flags—almost like they were embarrassed for each other, a three-week stretch when everyone was studying a lot. He thought he'd follow Quint's advice to be real. I've missed you.

I've missed hanging out, too. She said it as if she knew what he meant and wanted him to know that she meant something different.

Really, Candice. I miss you.

She stared ahead as if he hadn't said it. He stared ahead as well, afraid to move. After about ten minutes, she fell asleep. Daron was wide awake, watching out of the corner of his eye as her chin dropped lower and lower, as she snored and sniffled, as she slumped until her head rested against his shoulder, as her arms uncrossed and one hand tumbled to his lap, and as she jerked awake thirty minutes later when a door slammed somewhere in the house, followed by clumsy footsteps and the chunky clatter of drunken discretion. They stared expectantly at the maw of the dark hall, listening to breathy giggles,
hands raking the wall, hale hearty lusty hushing, until at last his Uncle Roy and Aunt Chester emerged, flat-backed and hugging the perimeter of the room like two cartoon spies, the latter's blouse a tell-all, each button crashing at its downstairs neighbor's place.

Uncle Roy feigned a toast as he and Aunt Chester backed out the front door, bidding their adieu to, The couple of the witching hour.

Excuse me. Candice withdrew her hand from Daron's lap to wave good night. When they were gone: Why do they think we're dating?

I have no idea.

She stared at him, leaning closer as if an inspection might reveal the truth. Are you sure?

He leaned forward to hide his erection. I'm sure. Ask them.

What are you pissed about?

Nothing. I'm not pissed.

She rubbed his arm. Nervous about tomorrow?

No. It'll be fine. Probably funny. When he thought about it, though, he was nervous about tomorrow. What if Jo-Jo was there, and asked after Candice in front of everyone else?

It's all right to be nervous.

Daron leaned farther forward. He wanted to tell her now that his father forbade him to go, wanted to stand to do it, but couldn't stand and face her. Maybe if he told her again how much he'd missed her, maybe if she believed it, that would make it easier. He couldn't see a way to say that again, either. When he said nothing for a few minutes, she asked, Would you mind if I stretched out and slept a little? She held up the blanket, like he needed that to aid comprehension.

Sure. Why don't you turn on the lamp and I'll turn off the big light. As soon as she reached for the lamp he stood and left the room, keeping his back to her the entire way.

On the way to his bedroom, he stopped in the bathroom to relieve himself. Earlier that evening he had walked in on Candice in there and froze with embarrassment, I just needed a towel. She waved him
in, grunting her reassurance that it was okay. Leafing through the towels, he glanced at her as she perfunctorily wiped the toothpaste from her chin, spitting at the same time, and saw the woman in her eyes. She was fully dressed, but the proximity felt intimate nonetheless. He imagined couples doing the same, sharing small spaces while attending to separate tasks. After a time, they hardly noticed each other. But he would never grow weary of watching Candice. Each day would mean a new observation or revelation, such as how she attended to her teeth like she was angry at them, those big white teeth, bright and shiny, brushed so vigorously he imagined them smooth as marble, but warm instead of cold, inviting, even in their sharpness, one to lick them. Inviting—no—daring even, like a blade. Of course Louis liked her. Quint as well. Everyone did. Aunt Chester had called her, As soft-nosed and sweet as she can be. Daron was sure Charlie liked her, too, though he never admitted it. But Charlie had more women trying to park in his lot than Walmart on Black Friday. He couldn't cross campus without girls waving to him, and not the shy, polishing-a-bowling-ball motion they reserved for coincidental classmates, but full-bodied hails, sometimes with two arms even.

I
N THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT,
Daron woke thirsty, stepping over Charlie and Louis, bypassing his midnight oasis in the bathroom, and stopping in the living room, where his mother had left a night light on for Candice, who snored softly on the couch, curled up like a cat, her lips parted, eyes still, chest rising and falling, his breathing, for a moment, matching hers. He had seen her passed out, often facedown, once slumped in a closet corner like a discarded snowsuit, but never sleeping so peacefully. It was hard to believe they were all in his house. He was an ambassador, the cat who dropped a thrasher or mole skink on the kitchen tile as if to say, You have no more to fear from them. It is safe. It was as if he had brokered a great
peace. He watched her for a moment, listened to the humming refrigerator, the ticking clock, the creaking noises the house made only at night, the shifting of the attic beams, the settling of the floor, the sway in the walls, all slowly adjusting itself to the earth.