Blame: A Novel (2 page)

She wanted to go home, change out of her stupid school clothes. But going to the movies and sitting next to Brice in the dark was irresistible.

The Sound of Music
was playing at the Big Oaks Revival House. Brice bought a tub of buttered popcorn, half a pound of Raisinets, and a box of ice-cream bonbons. During the previews he nosed the big old hook through Joey’s hair until it rested against her ear. I’ll be right back, he whispered, and stacked all the food on her lap.

Joey couldn’t concentrate. She was embarrassed by the clumsy way that Julie Andrews ran, and by the fake way the nuns broke into song. She kept turning to see if Brice was coming back. There were only three other people in the theater, two men and an older woman who was eating noisily. Then cool moisture oozed from the box of ice-cream bonbons and some of it went on her skirt. Setting everything down on the sticky floor, Joey left for the ladies’ room.

Nobody was in the lobby or at the candy counter. She ran upstairs to the lounge and sponged her skirt with a paper towel. She did not want to see the rest of the movie, but there was nothing to do in the lobby, so she returned to her seat and practiced typing on her knees—transcribing the movie as fast as she could.

•

The ticket takers and countermen were back at their stations, and still Brice had not come. She studied the movie posters in the lobby until
people arrived for the second matinee, and she kept studying them as they stood in line and bought their snacks. When the lobby was empty again, she decided to call both hospitals in town to see if Brice was in an emergency room. Since she had no money with her and was too shy to ask for any, she decided to walk back across town to the Bellwood, where Huffy would let her use the phone, if he wasn’t too angry about the steak-filled swan she’d left in the ladies’ snooker room.

Joey set off down Green Street in the dusty, late afternoon heat. She’d gone about five blocks when the Studebaker pulled up alongside her. Patsy, Brice’s girlfriend, smiled in the passenger seat. Hey there, she said.

The truck’s door swung open. Patsy had long yellow-blond hair and long, tanned legs and a wide, happy smile that revealed all her perfect, straight teeth. She taught history at a local college, though Joey’s father said she didn’t look like any history professor he ever had.

Patsy kissed the side of Joey’s head. Hi, kitten, she said. How was the movie? Ridiculous drivel? Yeah.

Show her what we got for her, said Brice, and Patsy handed Joey a tiny black velvet box.

Inside was a necklace—a small oval glass pendant on a thin gold chain, with matching oval earrings. All three ovals contained the same picture: the black silhouette of a palm tree and grass shack set against an orange sunset—exactly the South Sea paradise where, Joey imagined, Brice used to live.

Here, Patsy said. I’ll fasten it. Her long nails grazed Joey’s neck.

Look, Patsy said, and parted Joey’s blouse at the neck so Brice could see the pendant. You’re prettier every day, Patsy said. Isn’t she, Brice?

Brice said, I’ve been in love with Joey since the day she was born.

Were they drunk? Both held bottles of beer between their knees.

Darn, Brice. Her ears
aren’t
pierced. Well, that’s easy enough. Patsy threw an arm around Joey’s shoulder. We’ll exchange these for the un-pierced kind.

Or I could get my ears pierced, Joey said. She’d asked to have them done this summer, but her mother said pierced ears were primitive and low-class.

Patsy squeezed her shoulder. They were driving east now, away from the Bellwood, school, home, everyplace Joey knew. Aren’t we going to my house? she asked.

I have to stop in at work, said Brice.

He pulled up before the four-story white building, with its skinny turrets and pointy roof. Ah, said Joey, the ever-listing Lyster.

Brice and Patsy burst out laughing. We know whose daughter she is, Brice said.

•

You girls go on up, said Brice, I’ll be there in a minute.

Brice’s apartment on the fourth floor had high ceilings, dark polished floors, and almost no furniture, just a few old rugs and some large pillows covered in strange, coarsely woven fabrics.

He’s so damn Zen, your uncle, Patsy said, and drew Joey into the kitchen, where there was a table and actual chairs. Sit, she said, Let’s see what’s to drink.

Joey still held the black velvet box. She opened it and looked at the earrings. Mother promised I could get my ears pierced this summer, she said.

Oh, baby. Patsy touched Joey’s cheek. So sorry your mom’s so sick.

Yeah, Joey said. And now I’ll never get my ears pierced.

Oh, you will. You just walk into any jeweler’s, they have a gun, and
bang!
it’s done, said Patsy. I’d pierce them myself right now if Brice had a needle.

Maybe he does, said Joey. I bet he has a needle somewhere.

Patsy gave her a long, compassionate look. Well, let’s just see.

In Brice’s bedroom, Patsy rummaged in his dresser drawers, taking out several brown bottles whose labels she read intently. Is this what I think it is? she said, looking at a small gray packet. Eureka! she cried. A sewing kit!

•

Back in the kitchen, Patsy pulled an Olympia from the refrigerator. There’s no Coke, she said, but here. She poured beer into a tumbler. This will help you relax.

Will it hurt a lot? Joey asked.

Just for a second, like getting a shot. Maybe a little worse. Patsy shook half a dozen triangular orange pills from one bottle onto the white enamel tabletop, then a whole rain of tiny yellow pills from the
second bottle. Oh, aren’t these so teeny and sweet? she said, and, putting her finger on a yellow pill, dragged it from the pile. Using a paring knife, she cut it into two crumblike pieces. Here, she said, giving Joey the smaller piece. This’ll take the edge off any pain.

Patsy swept all the pills into her hand and dumped them into a side pocket of her purse, then took the bottles away and returned with rubbing alcohol, cotton, and a bar of soap. Just pretend it’s a tetanus shot, she said.

I don’t mind shots, Joey said.

Patsy wrapped two ice cubes in a dish towel for Joey to numb her ear. Turning on a gas burner, Patsy held a needle in its flame until the needle glowed red-orange. She swabbed first the needle, then Joey’s ear with alcohol. My roommates and I did this in college, she said, and snuggled the bar of Ivory behind Joey’s earlobe. Ready?

Pasty jabbed the needle through the lobe and into the soap. Joey heard a sound like rustling paper, followed by a sudden rushing in her head. Patsy pulled the soap away, and Joey’s eyes flooded with tears. Her body temperature shot up. Her entire skin was suddenly stretched tight. And then came the pain. Her ear stung as if a bee with a thick stinger was stinging it without end.

Now come on, I gotta get this in, Patsy said. The earring post was thicker than the needle, a thicker stinger yet. Joey tried to pull away, she couldn’t help herself, but Patsy held her by the ear. Just give me a minute here, said Patsy.

Ow ow OW, Joey said. Patsy wiggled the earring, her warm, sour breath coming in short, ragged bursts, her eyes wild and, to Joey, terrifying.

Stay still, Jesus Christ, she said sharply, yanking Joey by the ear.

Joey whimpered, and Patsy let go. Okay, okay, she said, try the ice cubes.

They looked at each other, both panting. Joey applied the ice. Cold water ran down her arm.

I’ll be fast, Patsy said, and again, terrible stinging and wiggling until Patsy suddenly withdrew. One down, one to go, she said. Let’s take a break.

They moved into the living room. Joey was suddenly, deliciously relaxed. She curled up on a cushion and drifted in a glow the same dull yellow as the half pill she’d swallowed. Patsy went to the kitchen and
brought back two Olympias. Better shore up for side two, she said, handing Joey a full bottle, then settling down on a cushion beside her. Now you do something for me, okay? she said, stroking Joey’s arm. Tell me about Brice’s other girlfriends.

Joey tried to think. He used to go with Joan Vashon, she said.

That was before, Patsy said. I mean now.

I thought
you
were his girlfriend.

Oh, I am. Patsy laughed. Such as it goes. I was just wondering about my compatriots in the cause.

I don’t know any of the others, Joey said.

But there
are
others.

You just said . . .

Oh, I don’t know that for sure, said Patsy.

Well, I don’t know any others, Joey said.

It could be he likes boys, said Patsy.

Oh, that Brice, Joey said, sounding on purpose like her father. He likes everybody!

Patsy’s face froze; then she laughed loudly. That he does, she said. A true omnivore. Preys on everything equally. Okay, sweetness. Patsy tugged on her own ear. Ready for side two? She drained her beer and struggled to her feet. Oops! Gotta pee.

While Patsy was in the bathroom, Joey went to the kitchen table and dug into the side pocket of Patsy’s purse until she found another tiny yellow pill. She glanced around for the knife to cut it in two, heard the toilet flush, then stuck the whole thing in her mouth and washed it down with beer.

This time, Patsy said, she’d push the post in right behind the needle, and the second earring did go through with only one long rush of burning pain.

Joey ran to the bathroom mirror. One earring was noticeably higher in the lobe. Behind her, Patsy said, Not bad. Just cock your head to one side, nobody will ever notice.

•

Brice had to wake them up. Patsy, holding her hands over her eyes, demanded that he take them to the Bellwood for dinner. Brice said it was the Trestle in La Canada or nothing. Move it, he said.

Joey stumbled down the stairs after them, her feet as heavy and unmanageable as bricks. In the truck, she fell back asleep between them, surfacing when Brice shook her. They were in the steak-house parking lot. Did you get her drunk, Pats? he said. Jesus.

They sat in a red leather booth. Brice ordered, and large, squat tumblers of amber whiskey arrived, along with a clear pink Shirley Temple for Joey.

Patsy opened the oversized red menu. I myself am partial to a big ole piece of meat, she said. Aren’t I, Brice?

Are you? said Brice.

I like to take a nice wobbly filet and put the whole thing in my mouth . . .

Patsy, Brice said sternly. Cut it out.

She turned to Joey. Uh-oh, she said. We better watch out. Can’t make him mad. Or, god knows, he’ll go make one of his phone calls.

Joey gazed down at her hands in her lap. Patsy leaned in closer. You ever notice he’s never in any phone booth? she said. Ever wonder where he goes when he makes one of his calls? Hard to believe men’s rooms are so entertaining.

Keep it up, Patsy, said Brice, and I will leave.

But he winked at Joey, indicating that he and she would hightail it out together. Joey was willing to leave right then and there, and hoped that Brice was calling the waiter over to ask for the check. Another round, my friend, he said.

In the long silence, Joey dozed again. Waking briefly, she spotted a beet slice leaking its pink ink onto white salad dressing; she couldn’t get anywhere near such a thing, so sank back into sleep. Next an oval steel platter appeared, with a slab of charred meat, a foil-wrapped potato, and adorable fluted paper cups of chives and sour cream. Joey ate some potato, but chewing was an effort. Neither Brice nor Patsy was eating either. They sat, closer now, drinking.

Patsy saw Joey looking at her. Hi, gorgeous, she said thickly. You are jus’ so gorgeous. She snuggled against Brice. I need another drink, baby.

Even Joey knew another drink was not what was called for—and didn’t Brice see that in addition to the glasses they held, there were already whole new drinks on the table? But Brice raised a hand for the
waiter, and another round arrived. Joey now had three undrunk Shirley Temples. She fished out the cherries, ate them, and—although she knew better, knew her mother would never have tolerated such a thing—lay down on the booth and slept.

•

When Joey woke up next, Patsy was grabbing onto her arm so hard it hurt. Ow! Joey cried. Quit it.

Let go of her, Pats, said Brice, who was outside and trying to pull Patsy out as well through the driver’s side door. Patsy held on to the steering wheel with her other hand, the one that wasn’t gouging Joey’s upper arm. No, no, no. Patsy was sobbing. No, Brice. I don’t want to go home.

Joey saw then that they were parked in the driveway of Patsy’s little white bungalow up in Altadena. Joey had been there once before, with her parents, for Brice’s last birthday.

C’mon, Pats, Brice said, softer now. He reached in and, one by one, uncurled Patsy’s fingers from the steering wheel. Just when he got all five fingers free, she reclasped it. This happened two, three, more times, until Brice finally managed to give a good yank at the exact moment all of Patsy’s fingers were free. Patsy grabbed onto Joey and pulled her out of the truck as well, and Joey’s back hit the running board as she slid down to the ground.

Brice shoved Patsy toward the dark bushes behind them, then grabbed Joey by her torso as if she were a baby, lifted her up, and swung her back into the truck. Joey knew he didn’t mean to hurt her, though his fingers dug into her, and she knocked her funny bone against the steering wheel. Ow, ow, Joey cried, and slithered across the bench seat away from him just as Brice slammed the door. Rubbing her elbow, which hurt like crazy, she sat up and watched Brice catch Patsy and hold her in his arms until she stopped trying to get away. He lifted one hand off her back and made a motion to Joey that she understood: lock the truck’s door. The button going down sounded like a gunshot.

Brice managed to get Patsy around the front of the truck and up into the house. Lights came on. Joey could see into the living-room window, the white bookshelves, and the big brown wing of an open grand piano. The house was set far back from the street, the front yard was
a dark lawn with tall shade trees that seemed like a beautiful park. Joey herself lived with her family six miles out of town on five acres of scrubby chaparral and crumbling granite boulders in a huge, mostly glass house designed by an architect named Halsop, whose neck Joey’s father perpetually yearned to wring. Joey yearned to live in a plain wooden home with a bow window, just like Patsy’s, in a neighborhood with big trees and straight streets you could roller-skate on, and next-door neighbor kids to play with.