Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men (27 page)

But I guess it’s not really a problem if no one finds out.

I heard a thud against the tub, and I shot up with my eyes open.

And then I heard someone swear. I looked over and saw the skinny boy with the puny little moustache, the one with the cute and creepy crush on me.

That crush became even more obvious when I realized what he’d just been doing with his right hand.

“Sorry,” the boy said. He sat down on the toilet seat and cradled his hurt toe. He didn’t look any older than sixteen to me; I think somehow that helped me classify him in my mind as a confused teenager with boundary issues, rather than some dangerous perv who required a serious pounding with a baseball bat. A good thing, since I’d left my bat at home.

“You’re sorry?” I asked. “Sorry about swearing? Or about spying on me with your pants down?”

His face turned red. I guess he’d forgotten what part of him he was still gripping.

“How can you breathe underwater?” he asked.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

“I saw you... you were under there for like... ten minutes at least.”

“I doubt it took you ten minutes to choke your little chicken yolk.”

He smiled nervously. “I kinda had a second run at it.”

And then he finally pulled up his pants.

“It’s an ancient technique,” I said. “From Japan. Now will you kindly get out of here before I kick your pervy ass?”

He didn’t budge.

“Get out!”

“You were breathing.”

“I was holding my breath.”

“I saw you. You were breathing. I saw your chest moving.”

He’d seen my chest. Obviously. And a lot more than that. “I’m going to call the cops,” I said.

He grinned.

I wasn’t expecting that.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll leave you alone.”

He climbed off the toilet and started to back away, his gaze glued to my breasts, almost tripping over the garbage can on his way out of the tiny bathroom.

I waited until I heard the door to the trailer slam before I climbed out of the tub. Not that it mattered; I doubt I had much left to hide from that kid.

Slimy Sandra didn’t show up after any of my shows the next day. A part of me was almost disappointed; it’s nice to be sought after, even if you question the sanity and natural hair color of the seeker.

But the pervy kid was in the crowd again, and after I’d climbed down the ladder he was huddled in at the back of the mass of eager kids and single dads.

He waited patiently while I dealt with the autographs and the banter, and the two less-than-subtle propositions, one involving adult diapers. Once he was the only person left he gave me the same creepy grin I’d seen from the night before. But this time I noticed something I hadn’t noticed last night, two shiny white fangs on the sides of his mouth.

You wouldn’t believe the crap they sell at the gift stand.

“No one knows about you, do they?” he asked.

“I told you. It’s a breathing technique.”

“Is it... surgically altered?”

“Can you just drop this? I don’t see why you’ve latched on to me.”

“Tell me about it.”

I was starting to miss my bottle-blonde clapping seal and her fake eyelashes.

“Tell me about it,” he said again. “Or else I’ll tell everyone.”

“Tell them what? You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“I wonder what The Wolfman would think of your secret. Would he call you a freak, maybe?”

“Who cares? He thinks he’s a character in
Twilight
.”

“You care.”

I knew he was right. Even if the kid never figured out what it is about me that’s different, he could hassle everyone I work with until someone with half a brain finally realized that my shoddily-built dive tank was at least twenty feet too deep, or that I was always down for thirty seconds longer than the girls at Sea World. I didn’t want people thinking about that.

Even my uncle didn’t know about my goddess. Only the women in my family had known, the ones who’d been touched by it.

I was the only one left.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll show you my secret. But not here.”

“Later tonight?” He sounded way too hopeful.

“Meet me at my camper at midnight. It’s down by the bunkhouse...”

“I know where it is.”

“You’re creepy, kid... you know that?”

“I’m happy in my own skin,” he said.

I shuddered.

I’d gone from one bad stalker to someone even worse.

The Wolfman (or Quinn) stopped by my camper not long after I got there. He brought a bag of pasties and a six pack of Stroh’s, and while I didn’t check his pockets I was pretty sure from the smile on his face that he had a condom or two on him, too. And he was still wearing his stupid fangs.

I wondered if he ever took them out.

I wondered if that really worked on the other girls.

I wondered if I was on my way to joining their ranks.

“You like pasties, right?” he asked.

“You betcha,” I said. “I’m a good little Yooper.”

“I hope you don’t mind me stopping in, Vanessa. A couple of the local girls convinced Horny Rich to let them throw a party in his trailer and the sounds travels pretty good.”

It wasn't a terrible excuse.

We sat down at my little square dinette and began to eat.

“Got this from that place by the boat,” he said.

“That could literally be anywhere in town.”

“The little boat. Place was like a hundred and fifty degrees. I guess they cook up so many pasties they decided to make the whole restaurant into an oven.”

“I bet it made you want to buy extra pasties.”

“I get ya... marketing tactic. Sneaky bastards.”

“I have to ask,” I said, “what’s the deal with those fake fangs?”

“They’re not fake,” he said.

I expected a longer answer. I just stared at him for a while.

“They’re implants,” he said.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’ve committed to the role. And the ladies love ‘em.”

“
Some
ladies, perhaps.” I gave him a light punch on the shoulder.

He seemed to like it.

As we kept talking I decided that Quinn was actually pretty funny. He had a knack both for making me laugh and always keeping me a little on edge about whether or not he actually thought I was worth his time, even taking care to make light fun of women's softball. His dating technique was dead on.

“Tell me something truly titillating about The Wolfman,” I said as I started my second bottle of beer. He hadn’t brought enough of it; if that Brooklyn boy was trying to get me drunk he didn’t know a lot about Michiganders. It would take at least my own six pack to make this girl honk like a goose.

“Not much to tell,” he said. “Got married too soon, divorced too late. I’ve been twenty years without a chocolate egg cream.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Indescribable. One day you’ll have to find out for yourself.”

“Okay. What else?”

“Well... let’s see... I live in the moment, but I think you know that.”

“Half the women in town know that.”

He laughed. “I doubt it’s half. But I’m not ashamed of what I am.”

I gave him a smirk. “I’d be a little ashamed of girls like Anastasia Braun if I were you.”

“You didn’t like her,” he said. “But she had her charms. Believe me.”

He was starting to lose his touch.

“I’ll bet all it takes to get you going is for a girl to be blonde and pretty,” I said. “I don’t think I’d call either of those things charms.”

“I like more than just blondes.”

“Sure. I’ll bet you were with a blonde last night. Probably tall, skinny, and young. God... don’t tell me you went out with that skanky new girl at the lemonade stand. She looks downright diseased.”

I told myself to dial it back, but I knew by then I’d already spewed enough crazy that it shouldn’t matter anymore.

“I was with an older woman, actually,” Quinn said. “Interesting, but a little odd...”

“And how did it end?” I don’t know why I even asked. With my luck he was talking about Sandra.

“It fizzled out.”

“So you won’t be sampling her again?”

“I think last night was it for her, actually. I doubt I’ll ever see her again.”

I sighed. “I don’t know how you can want that. One night stands... women you don’t even care about.”

“I know,” he said, sounding all sensitive. “I guess there’s just something inside of me... some hunger for the chase. I know I shouldn't like it so much.”

I was trying to keep the new approach from working, but somehow that bullshit was wearing me down.

Fucking shit. He was winning.

“So you think it’s wrong?” I asked. “Treating women like that?”

“I don’t know what I think. Honestly, Vanessa... I just don’t know.”

He leaned in and put his hand on my thigh.

Definitely my thigh.

“I guess we’re getting close to the kiss,” I said. It was all so contrived, but I didn’t really want to stop him.

He nodded and went for it. It was good. Probably too good. I like a little inexperience.

“My bed sucks,” I said. “It feels like laying on cardboard. You don’t want to try anything here.”

“That’s not what this is,” he said. “It’s not about your bed.”

He gave me another kiss, quick and soft.

“You’re the most beautiful creature in the world,” he said. “My soul aches for yours.”

I let out a giggle. “That’s some bad poetry right there.”

“Yeah... but I mean it.”

“Okay,” I said. “Um... thanks?”

He frowned. “I should go,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And that was that. He left without giving me a chance to come up with a coherent response.

It worked. I could feel my knees buckling even as I sat.

The Wolfman knew his audience.

I’d almost fallen asleep when I heard the knock on my door. It was midnight and I’d completely forgotten about the pervy kid from Marquette or wherever and our little game of show-and-tell.

I let him in but I didn’t invite him to sit down. I just wanted to get it over with.

From his stupid grin he looked like he’d also brought along some condoms. And I could see that he still had those lame-ass fangs jammed into his mouth.

“C’meerrr,” he said. “Show me the goods.”

“You’re kidding.”

He laughed. “Yup. But seriously... I do want to see them.”

“See what?”

“The gills. I know about them.”

“Gills?”

“You’re really bad at this game,” he said. “I know about the gills, and I know what you are.”

“Wow... meth is a helluva drug.”

“Your ocean spirit... inside of you.”

I was sure the shock on my face was pretty clear. Somehow he just knew, like he’d found a photo of me on Wikipedia, some badly-written and poorly-sourced article telling him just who I was.

“What do you want from me?” I asked. “I don’t have any money, and I’m sure as hell not giving you the other thing.”

“I take what I want,” he said.

He didn’t lunge or anything. He just glared at me.

I wasn’t sure if he expected some kind of capitulation on my part, like I was just going to sigh and lie on my back and think of England’s soccer stars.

I punched him square in the eye.