Youth in Revolt: The Journals of Nick Twisp (21 page)

After retrieving the tiny shreds for later reassembly, I called Dad in Marin. His bimbette answered. She said Dad was still up in Ukiah looking for a place to rent.

“Isn’t it exciting?” asked Lacey. “I’m going to move up too. We’re going to live in a cute little cabin out in the redwoods and I’m going to get a job in a beauty salon in town.”

“Gee, Lacey, you don’t suppose you’d have room for me and my dog?”

“Things aren’t going so well at home, Nickie?” asked Lacey solicitously.

“The pits,” I replied. “And I really miss spending time with Dad,” I added untruthfully.

“A boy should be close with his father,” averred Lacey. “Well, I’ll certainly suggest it to Thunder Rod when he gets back. I expect him tonight. We have to pack up tomorrow. Oh, it’s so exciting!”

I imagined Lacey excited and found the thought quite thrilling. Having the alluring bimbette under the same roof definitely made the prospect of living with Dad more palatable. Perhaps Dad will find a cabin with a hot tub and be forced to work late at the office on warm summer evenings when the air is sticky with desire. As the dying sun flickers through the sequoias, Lacey will wiggle innocently out of her clothes and suggest a dip in the soothing waters. I
will follow, of course—not forgetting that my heart is Sheeni’s alone, but not fearing to taste deeply of all the experiences life places before me. After all, I owe it to my art.

After Lacey rang off, I called Lefty’s house. His fat mother answered. I affected a sultry woman’s voice.

“May I speak to Leroy, please?” I purred.

“Who is this?” demanded the prying parent.

“Miss Satron, his English literature teacher. I wish to discuss a matter pertaining to William Blake the poet.”

“Oh yes, Miss Satron,” she said, suddenly respectful. “I’ll run and get him. He’s out playing basketball with his father.”

After a minute Lefty answered. “Hello, Miss Satron,” he said.

“Young man, I understand you had a date last night with Millie Filbert.”

“Yes, Miss Satron, I did,” he said wonderingly. “How did you know?”

“Never mind. What I want to know is did you remove her panties and suck her throbbing pubes?”

“Of course n—Hey, who is this?”

“Who do you think it is?” I said, reverting to my normal voice. “Meet me in the park in five minutes. Or do you want to shoot some more baskets with your dad?”

“Miss Satron,” said Lefty, “you called just in the nick of time.”

I took Albert to the park with me. That way, if somehow Mom got home before I did, I could always claim Albert had demanded a walk. Lefty was overjoyed to see his old companion, but the dog was rather cool. Clearly his heart now belongs to another. Fortunately, Lefty didn’t seem to notice.

“So tell me about your date,” I said. “You got to second base?”

“Both of them,” he replied, scratching Albert’s ears.

“Over or under?”

“Under, of course,” said Lefty, offended. “Second base doesn’t count unless you’re actually under the bra. At least not in my league.”

“So let’s get the story!”

“It was great,” he replied. “We went out to Berkeley. Dad offered to drive us, but I nixed that. We took BART.”

“Did you go to a movie?”

“Naw, we went up to Telegraph Avenue and checked out the record stores. Millie had a whole list of tapes she needed. It was tough too, ’cause they have hidden cameras and those magnetic detectors. But I managed to get her most of what she wanted. She was quite impressed.”

“You’re the pro,” I agreed. “Where did you have dinner?”

“We bought pizza slices and ate them on the street. Boy, does Millie look sexy scarfing down the pepperoni.”

“Then what did you do?”

“Then we went back to Millie’s house and sat on this swing thing they have in her back yard. It was nice and dark and private.”

“You made out?” I asked.

“Eventually,” said Lefty. “It took me a while to work up my courage. It was great, though. She has incredible lips.”

“Instant hard-on?”

“Are you kidding? I had a hard-on when we sat down.”

“Did she mind when you touched her chest?”

“Mind? She put my hand on them! God, it was great. It was almost like I was in a dream.”

“Are her tits nice?” I asked.

“Fabulous,” said Lefty, “totally fabulous. Better than Sheeni’s, I’d say.”

“No way,” I replied.

“Well,” said Lefty, “in my opinion, they’re bigger.”

“Yeah, if you like them drooping.”

“They don’t droop. They’re hard as baseballs.”

“Well, they’ll droop someday,” I reasoned. “Big ones always do. Look at your mother.”

“Let’s leave my mother out of this,” said Lefty. “I don’t look at your mother’s chest, you don’t look at mine.”

“It’s a deal,” I said. “So when are you seeing Millie again?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. She’s coming over and we’re going to study together.”

“Are you going to try for a triple?” I asked.

“Triple nothing,” he replied, “I’m swinging for the fences. By the way, I got you your rubbers.”

From his backpack Lefty extracted a box of a dozen purloined prophylactics. Nervously, I slipped the hot goods down the front of my shirt.

“Thanks, pal,” I said. “I’m not leaving you short, am I?”

“Naw,” replied Lefty, “I got enough for a few weeks. Just to be on the safe side, I picked up a whole case.”

2:15 P.M. I came home to find the front door ajar. It had been kicked in. The house was ransacked. We’ve been burglarized!

4:30 P.M. I just came upstairs after being interrogated by Mom, Wally, and Officer Lance Wescott of the Oakland PD. The cop was a big, beefy authority figure around 45 with a flattop, watery red eyes, and assorted protruding
guns, flashlights, billy clubs, stun guns, tear-gas canisters, walkie-talkies, and hand grenades. In my opinion, he was also wearing a bulletproof vest.

Mom was near hysteria because the thief (or thieves), besides swiping the TV, VCR, $46 in cash, and Mom’s jewelry box, also jimmied out the radio from Jerry’s dead Chevy. No more musical excursions down lovers’ lane with Wally. As for Wally, he was doing his ineffectual best to comfort Mom, while arousing the suspicions of the cop for gazing so earnestly at the ceiling.

“What kind of radio was in the car, ma’am?” asked Officer Wescott, writing in a small blue notebook.

“It was a Chevrolet radio, of course,” replied Mom.

“Did it have a tape player?” he asked.

“No. It was just an AM radio. But it had excellent tone,” she added.

“Why exactly is this car parked here, ma’am?”

Mom looked like she thought that was an incredibly impertinent question. “It belonged to a friend of mine who is now deceased. He left it here.”

“Uh-huh. And you listen to the radio in it?”

“Sometimes,” retorted Mom. “Is there any law against that?”

“Offhand, I can’t think of any,” replied the cop. His watery gaze shifted to Wally. “Who are you?”

Wally blushed. “I, I’m a friend,” he mumbled, shifting his feet. Albert was licking his ankles.

The cop glanced suspiciously at the dog, at Wally, and up at the ceiling. Then he looked at me.

“Where were you when the crime took place?” he demanded.

“I, I was upstairs in my room,” I lied.

“Then you must have heard the break-in.”

“Uh, yes. Of course,” I stammered.

“What did you do?”

“I, I stayed in my room.”

The cop was perplexed. “Why didn’t you call the police? Or leave the house?”

“I’m not allowed out of my room,” I explained.

“He’s being punished,” volunteered Mom. “But he should have known to run away. Nickie, you could have been killed!”

Fat lot you’d care!

“Well,” I said, “I figured I had Albert with me for protection.”

“Who’s Albert?” demanded the cop.

“My dog,” I said, pointing to the ankle nuzzler.

An ill-concealed sneer darted over Officer Wescott’s bloated face. “Did you get a look at the suspects?” he asked.

“No,” I replied. “I had my door shut.”

“They didn’t come into your room?” he inquired, smelling a rat.

“No,” I lied. I dared not confess the thieves had made off with my entire sports equipment collection, including an official Rodney “Butch” Bolicweigski first baseman’s glove in mint condition. Thank God the perpetrators preferred baseball gear to computers.

Officer Wescott peered at me. I could tell he was thinking that all it would take to get the truth out of me was an expert application of a rubber hose. Unaccountably, he must have left his in the patrol car. He turned to Mom. “OK, ma’am. If you discover anything else is missing, give me a call.”

“Will you catch the criminals?” asked Mom.

“More than likely we won’t,” confessed the cop, “but we’ll let you know if there are any developments.”

7:05
P.M
. In honor of my narrow escape from homicidal maniacs, Mom let me come downstairs for dinner “just this one time.” Over tuna noodle casserole, she announced to Wally and me that she has decided the burglary was “a sign from Jerry.”

“I can see now that Jerry does not want that automobile tampered with,” said Mom. “Wally, you’ll have to put back all the parts you took off.”

Wally blushed. “But, Estelle,” he said, “I didn’t actually remove any. The bolts were too tight.”

“Good,” she replied. “Tomorrow we can go out and get a new radio—if, Wally darling, you’ll be a doll and put it in for me?”

“You know I will, baby,” said Wally.

The guy is such a sap.

10:30
P.M
. After two frustrating, tedious hours I was able to reassemble Sheeni’s letter—minus a few strategic pieces here and there. Perhaps Mom swallowed those. Thank God she doesn’t have a shredder yet.

Sheeni reports she is in all the accelerated classes and already has her teachers “thoroughly intimidated.” In fact, she says after correcting over a dozen errors of fact made by Mr. Perkins, her English teacher, he is now virtually “tongue-tied” in class. She also reports her fabulous new wardrobe has inspired such “egregious envy” among her female classmates she fears “a sinister cabal” may be forming against her. “Why, darling Nickie,” wrote Sheeni, “in the presence of fashion, style, and beauty, do people respond, not with admiration,
but with an impulse toward destruction? Why are human beings so determined to enforce a dreary ordinariness in appearance, thought, and conduct? More than ever, my darling, I am resolved we must flee to Paris with Albert as soon as possible.”

Sheeni is ready to emigrate and I’ve yet to learn a word of French. I must begin foreign language study at once—whatever the consequences!

SUNDAY, September 16
— No screaming last night either. Not even the telltale creakings of the bedsprings. Has the bright flower of passion faded so quickly?

At 7:06
A.M
. Mom slunk into the bathroom and hurled her halibut. She really should go in for a blood test. Maybe that’s what Jerry was trying to communicate by the burglary.

This time, Wally brought up my breakfast tray. I knew it was Wally because he actually knocked on the door.

“Good morning, Wally,” I said. “Sleep well?”

Wally put down the tray and blushed one of his darkest crimson hues. Perhaps he imagined I was making some sort of thinly veiled allusion to his celibate night. Was I, in fact?

“Very well,” mumbled the giant. He turned to go, then paused. “I, I put in a good word for you with your mom,” he said, addressing the ceiling light.

“Thanks, Wally,” I said, actually meaning it.

Wally Rumpkin may be a total sap, but he’s a much nicer guy than my mother deserves.

11:30 A.M. After Mom and Wally left to go radio shopping, I sneaked downstairs to make some calls. Willfully disobedient as ever, I dialed Sheeni’s number in Ukiah.

“It’s your nickel,” answered a strange male voice.

“Uh, may I speak to Sheeni,” I said.

“You want to speak to Sheeni? The world wants to speak to Sheeni. Why are you so special?”

“Uh, is this Paul?” I asked.

“If the name palls, try another,” he said. “Call me Nick.”

“Uh, that’s my name,” I said.

“Then call me Rick. What’s up, Nick?”

“May I speak to Sheeni, please?”

“Sheeni is out, Rick. She left a message for Nick. I’ll get it quick.”

I heard the sounds of paper rustling and then the voice returned. “Through the hand of Sheeni moves the message genie: ‘Nick, everything is
set. Your father found a place to live that takes dogs. Love to Albert.’ What do you think, Rick? Sounds like code to me.”

“Uh, Paul,” I said, “could you give her a message for me?”

“Not if it involves writing,” he replied. “Today is the Sabbath.”

“OK. Just tell her I’m in total lockdown for a month and I’ll call her again when I can.”

“Thirty days of total lockjaw,” repeated Paul. “And you’ll can the calls when you gain the upper hand.”

“Uh, just tell her Nick called.”

“OK, Trent,” said Paul. “Thanks for calling.”

Or did he say “bawling”? Or was it “balling”? And why did he call me Trent?

Still confused, I dialed Dad’s number in Marin. After six rings, Dad answered, sounding harassed.

“Hi, Dad. This is Nick,” I said, trying to chisel some ersatz affection into my voice.

“Nick, I got a truck here costing me $39.50 an hour. What do you want?”

“Uh, I hear you and Lacey are moving to Ukiah,” I said brightly.

“We’re certainly trying to,” he answered peevishly.

This conversation was proving even more painful than I had imagined in my worst moments of anticipatory dread. “Well, did Lacey talk to you about my staying with you awhile?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” said Dad. “That’s a big responsibility.”

“I know, Dad. But you wouldn’t have to pay child support. Mom might even pay
you
some. And I’d be happy to go to public school and get a job and do lots of chores around the house—for free.”

“Well, I don’t know,” repeated Dad. “I don’t want any swishy characters hanging around.”

“I’m not gay, Dad.”

“Since when?” he asked, surprised.

“Since always.” I considered mentioned Sheeni, but feared the mention of another female might trigger his competitive instincts.