Part 21 (1/2)
”I was going to tell Ruby. But I was afraid she'd break up with me. Ha!”
”Have you...done anything?”
”I messed around with one guy. He was there, just now.”
”It wasn't Chris, was it?” He drops his arm.
”No. Benjamin.”
The nail-biter. Of course.
”It didn't mean anything. But, yeah, we messed around a little last summer. I made the move. Before I met Ruby.”
”Maybe you'll get to explore this side-”
”It's not a big deal,” Calvin says, suddenly brusque. ”Everyone's bis.e.xual. I've been reading a lot of theory. Marcuse calls it polymorphous perversity. Everyone in an ideal world would be able to express it. Bis.e.xuality is inherently a critique, because it refuses the dualistic labeling of s.e.xuality.”
”Right. Kinsey said we're all on a scale somewhere.”
”I'm not saying I'm smack in the middle. I mean, I still like a nice set of t.i.ts.”
”Of course.”
Robin looks up the block. He's ready to go now, worried that he's been away from Ruby again for too long. George is with her, though. George will take care of things.
Calvin says, ”You figured it out? That's what you said, just now.”
”The script,” Robin says. ”Look, I really need to get back to-”
Calvin snaps his fingers. ”The best thing that could come out of this is that my script gets a jolt of new energy. I'm thinking I should have Agnetha take off with some other guy, while Carter goes looking for her. Do you think that would work? I mean, based on what you read?”
”It could...”
”Because you get the undertone that runs through it, that Carter's really l.u.s.ting after his friend, right?”
”Oh, yes, that was apparent.” Seems even more apparent now, knowing that Bennett in the script comes from Benjamin in life. But, really, Benjamin, that wisea.s.s? The one who was so quick to label Robin gay as soon as he met him, who insulted George with that Mr. T. crack? Calvin seems to lack the capacity for good judgment. ”Why don't you let Carter become more aware at the end?”
”You mean in the bathroom? It's supposed to be ambiguous.”
”But it's kind of a cliche. The whole thing with the razor.”
”It is? Because I'm, like, morally opposed to cliche.”
”So don't make the s.e.xually confused guy come off as weak weak. It's not the 1950s, you know.” And then he says something he hadn't planned to say, though as soon as he does it seems true. ”I'd like to play a character who's more ready to deal with being gay. Or bi. Whatever you want to call it.”
”See, this is why I knew you needed to take that role, because you're in tune with the themes and motifs I'm interweaving into this, and the social context of imagery and so forth.” Calvin opens the Saab's back door and pulls a notebook off the floor. ”I'm going to stay here and write some of these new ideas down.”
”Good. I'll take the bag and get Ruby. Do you want me to give her a message?”
”No, f.u.c.k her. Sorry. I mean-tell her if she wants to maintain any sort of friends.h.i.+p she's going to have to make it up to me. I'm serious. I'm not gonna go sniffing after her like some kind of p.u.s.s.ywhipped guy.”
”Will do.”
Robin gives Calvin another squeeze on the arm. Calvin looks up at him and beams. It's surprising, this genuine affection. But it pa.s.ses soon enough, and he returns his attention to his notebook, his hand looping across the lined pages in a fit of inspiration.
Robin turns and moves back down the street, his sister's case in his grip. The bag is remarkably heavy, as if she had packed for a longer journey.
From the front porch, she calls out to the Deadheads in the lawn chairs, ”Did you see a guy come out here-black hair, red T-s.h.i.+rt?” They send her vacant stares and shrugs. She looks up and down the street. Only a few trees. Little shade or shelter. Nowhere to hide, but no sign of Chris.
She can't be sure he hasn't left for good. He knows she lied to him. Then Cicely wouldn't let him in the bathroom. Then Calvin picked a fight and might have hurt him. He could have decided enough was enough. And if she's right-that he got high with Benjamin-he could have followed that buzzing energy anywhere. She takes a few steps into the front yard, a plot of arid ground between the stoop and the sidewalk, more gravel than gra.s.s. There's a wobble to her step, some leftover dizziness. She wonders if that was alcohol poisoning. A hot merciless wind sends a wad of Kleenex sputtering along the sidewalk. The toe of her boot snags on something in the dirt. She reaches down and with one finger pries up what seems to be the lower half of a bikini, a riot of color, coated in filth. At that moment she senses eyes upon her. A woman her mother's age is sweeping the sidewalk a few houses down, scrutinizing her.
”Day and night, nothing but a racket,” the woman snarls. ”You should be ashamed.”
”No, I'm not part of this-” Ruby begins and then stops, because the woman's accusatory expression doesn't change, and really, why would it? To her, Ruby is just one more troublemaker here for the weekend, blazing a path of destruction in the name of partying. And anyway, Ruby is is part of this. She's smack in the middle of it. part of this. She's smack in the middle of it.
The soiled bikini bottom dangles from her finger. In a flash she remembers a preposterous thought that soared across her mind as she leaned over the porcelain bowl and emptied herself out-the idea that throwing up would somehow protect her from pregnancy. That the violence of the act would-what? Loosen any fertilized egg that wanted to attach itself inside of her? She feels a repulsive shudder travel down her back. She flicks the bikini to the ground again. The woman with the broom, still watching, lets out a disapproving grunt. Ruby drags the cloth with her boot toward the porch steps, as if this might make a difference. What if she is pregnant and she never sees him again? What if he kills himself-would she have to keep the baby, to keep him alive?
”Hey, Ruby-over here.”
She recognizes his voice before she sees him-already she knows what her name sounds like coming from his mouth-and then there he is, just a little ways down, sitting on the hood of a car, exactly as he'd done outside the club. Sitting and waiting. Thank you, G.o.d. Thank you, G.o.d. She has the strong impulse to run to him, grab his hand, and drag him away. To disappear together once more and not tell anyone. Wasn't everything fine until they came back here? The room at the Island Beach Motor Lodge is paid for. She can go home tomorrow, after another night with Chris. She can visit Jackson's grave tomorrow, too. A day late, yes, but she can memorialize his She has the strong impulse to run to him, grab his hand, and drag him away. To disappear together once more and not tell anyone. Wasn't everything fine until they came back here? The room at the Island Beach Motor Lodge is paid for. She can go home tomorrow, after another night with Chris. She can visit Jackson's grave tomorrow, too. A day late, yes, but she can memorialize his birthweek. birthweek. She walks slowly to him, her steps controlled. She walks slowly to him, her steps controlled.
Chris's face is puffy on one side. There's a bright red patch where his jaw meets his neck-is that from Calvin? It nearly mirrors the scratch Dorian gave her last night. It repulses her, all this fighting. They're supposed to be adults, but they're as primitive as wild animals.
”You and me,” he says. ”That's all I care about.” He slides off the hood and reaches for her hand. He wants to take her away. Already she can read his intention in a single gesture. The desire apparent in his body language. There's something so powerful in that knowledge. But she stops short. Because it's not last night anymore, and now there are too many questions.
”Did you?” she asks.
”What?”
”Did you do c.o.ke with Benjamin? Just before, in the house?”
”Benjamin's always got c.o.ke. f.u.c.king Scarface.”
She press her lips together, waiting.
He hunches his shoulders guiltily. ”I did one little half-line. I was just trying to slow him down.”
”Slow him down?”
He drops his head, looks at his hands. ”I was confused. He was talking all kinds of s.h.i.+t. About you. That you weren't really-”
”What? A virgin?”
He shakes his head. ”Never mind.”
”That's what he said, right?”