Chapter 15
Vic awoke late with a vile taste in his mouth. His head felt like twins, both thumping.
"Hal's making those juicies too strong!" he muttered. "And I'd hate to see my old man when he lamps Hal's bill. He'll blow his stack!"
He looked out the window. It was almost noon, according to the sun. It was fighting to shine through scudding clouds, driven by a stiff northeast wind. The leaves were whirling down from the trees, fleeing before the wind, seeming to chase themselves. Autumn leaves? He remembered the song. Lissa had sung it for him.
Imminent autumn made him think of school. Almost time to get out to the university and register. What was he majoring in? He laughed. Cunts maybe! He'd switched subjects a couple of times when failure threatened, but right now the main thing was to graduate and get off the lousy campus. "Business administration might do," he told himself, "or civil engineering, or how about voice?" He grinned. That might be the ticket. Lissa was majoring in voice and musical theory. It might be a good idea to tag along with her. He had told Gary and Dudley that she was cold, but lately she'd fired up. And right now there were no other more tantalizing dishes available.
He flopped over on his side and frowned. Then he stuck out his tongue and glanced at it in the dresser mirror. What a tongue! Had someone rubbed chalk into it? Well, there was only one cure for that. He squirmed out of bed, trudged to his clothes closet and reached up with his left hand until his fingers touched glass. There was a gurgling sound as he tipped the bottle. He screwed the cap back on the fifth and shivered.
"Good thing my old man don't know where this is," he muttered. "He'd pour it down the sink or maybe drink it."
And that was more than Lissa's pater would do. The old square! And Lissa's mother? What a broad! They both thought if a guy crossed home plate with their whistle chick he must march to the altar and chuck his freedom. Why, this sort of stuff had been going on for a long time. These oldsters were sitting around with their heads in the sand, not knowing what this generation was up to. So far as that was concerned, man, look at what happened when he was a mere kid, hardly dry behind the ears.
Warmed by the liquor, he sat on the edge of the bed and his mind went back to his twelfth birthday.
Her name was Jenny Marlin. She was a big-legged, brown-eyed kid with black hair and white skin. She was a curious little girl. Her dark eyes would open wide when she saw something unusual.
One summer day Vic and she were playing down in the hollow west of her house. This part of town was sparsely settled, and the kids had free range. The sun was hot. Vic and she were seated in the shade on the bank of a creek, watching the minnows cavort in the water. One minnow kept chasing another. Jenny frowned and poked at it with a stick.
"Mean little fish," she pouted.
"Naw, he's not mean."
"He is so! He's fighting the other one."
"Silly!" Vic chided.
She hit the water with the stick. "All right, smarty! What?"
"He likes the girl fish. He's trying to make her like him, too."
She stared at him. "You mean fishes are different?"
"Sure, silly, just like boys and girls." Her eyes opened wide. "I've never seen a boy, that is without any clothes on."
Slyly, he glanced around. "Would you like to?" She hesitated, turning her face away. "Well, maybe, if—"
"All right. Come over here behind the willows. I'll take a bath in the creek and you can see for yourself."
"Maybe I better not. Mamma will—" "Don't tell her. Come on!"
She followed him behind the willows. In a few moments he was splashing in the water, the sun glistening over his lithe body. Then he stood up and faced her.
She gasped. "You are different!"
"Sure, silly. Don't you know anything?" He started toward her. "Wait! Don't run off. I got lots more things to show you. Don't you want to get smart?"
But she was flashing up the hill toward home.
Vic's dad had switched him when the story filtered down, but the punishment was soon forgotten, and Vic thought of different forms of amusement.
He remembered the neighbor's dog, Watch. Watch was always hanging around the Miles' back door, making a nuisance of himself, watching for biscuits which Jenny, the black cook, would toss his way. He was a yellow mutt with soft brown eyes and a tail that was always wagging. And that wasn't the worst of it. He was a ladies' dog. The girl mutts seemed to have a fondness for him, or maybe, Vic thought, they just came around to share his handouts.
One day Watch got tied up with a bitch and they couldn't break apart. They seemed fastened together in a way that should have been painful, but both of them seemed to be laughing, their pink tongues protruding.
Vic grinned. "I'll fix that," he said, glancing at the wire clothesline, extending between two steel posts.
Watch and his friend were pretty heavy, but Vic got an arm under each one, heaved them up and threw them astride the wire. Then he stood back and listened to them howl.
"You mean brat!" the black cook shrilled, waddling down the back steps. "I'm fixin' to tell your pa on you. He'll whomp you good."
Vic laughed and got out of her way as she hurried toward the clothesline. But before she reached it, Watch and his fucking mate fell to the ground, separated, and ran off yelping.
"Shame on you!" the cook berated him, her face swelling. "Got a good mind to tan you, myself."
He thumbed his nose at her and stood his ground. She glared at him, then shook her head and went back into the house.
Elza Miles didn't punish him for it, shrugging it off as a boyish prank. Besides, dogs hanging around the back stoop were nuisances. And Watch wouldn't leave so long as cook kept doling out the biscuits.
Vic got up and took another nip from the fifth. He laughed to himself. Kid stuff. He wouldn't do anything like that now. "I guess I'm not so bad," he told himself. "Got plenty of skins, rate high at all the shakepits, and am always the main stem at a party. The whistle chicks flock around me and I can fuck any one I choose."
Yeah! He wasn't so dumb. Here he was, carrying Lissa Excell on credit, and taking his pay out in trade. Not all cunts got to ride around in imported jobs like his. He'd offered to let Lissa drive it any time she wanted, but she was chicken behind the wheel.
He looked out the window. Rain. Lissa didn't like to go out in the rain. It took the wave out of her hair, and of course, a lay on the golf course was out of the question. Besides, there were certain times when she made him keep his distance for a few days. Sometimes, these broads were a pain in the neck!
He turned away from the window, walked to the mirror and fingered his thin beard. Not a bad-looking stud! In fact, a striking fellow! And the beard made him look imposing.
The cigarettes? He looked down at his nicotine stained fingers. The yellow trail had crept up almost to his wrist. So what? His old man had told him he'd better cut down or he'd burn a hole in his lungs. To hell with that! He grabbed his pack and stuck two cigarettes between his lips. His lighter clicked, he inhaled deeply and the two butts glowed. Ah, that was more like it! But Lissa? She refused to smoke. Might ruin her voice. Well, it took all kinds to make up the world, and they were all here, man!