CHAPTER 9
BREAKING AND ENTERING
We were driving back to Keaton.
“Worth every penny,” said Dad.
“What’s that?” said Clarissa.
“The fire department,” said Dad.
I said, “I’m not following you.”
Clarissa said, “They’re volunteers, dummy. He made a joke.”
I turned to Clarissa. “Tell me about airplanes.”
“I wish we had some more beer.” She said, “Six beers between three people only makes you thirsty.”
“If I get more beer will you tell me about airplanes?”
I looked at her in the rearview mirror. She nodded.
Keaton doesn’t have a liquor store so I made a detour to Dorsey.
Dee’s Liquor was closed. We sat in the parking lot and watched fluorescent lights blink in the refrigerators.
“Why would a liquor store close on a Friday night?”
“In the summertime, it’s always closed on Fridays,” said Clarissa. “It’s her mobile day. Bring the booze to the people. Usually she’s at the softball games. But since the games are rained out, she’ll be down at the gravel pits. That’s where the high school kids hang out nowadays. Later she’ll make a run to the poker night at the Catholic Church.”
“Since when is there a Catholic Church out here?”
“There isn’t. That’s just what they call the Quonset hut on the old Bennett place.” Clarissa shrugged. “Whatever. The store’s closed and we need something to drink.”
“Shit yes, we do,” said Dad. He looked at me and Clarissa to see if we heard him.
“Language, Pa.”
Clarissa sighed. Dad sighed.
I said, “You know what she oughta do? She ought to leave a key out so responsible people can go in and buy booze even when the store’s closed. We’re responsible people. I’d even tip her some.”
Clarissa said, “Leave a key out. Wouldn’t that just be hilarious?” She got out of the car and tried the door of the liquor store. Locked. Then she lifted up the doormat. There was a key.
I rolled down the window and said, “Okay. Time to go home.”
She put the key in the door and turned it.
“Pa, tell her to knock it off.”
“Looks like she’s got things under control.”
Clarissa looked left and right. No witnesses. She tiptoed inside, opened a fridge, and exited with a case of beer.
“You leave enough money?” I asked.
“I don’t have anything on me.”
“Then you just committed larceny.”
She put the key in my hand. “You pay. Go on. It’s fun. Kinda creepy in there with all those half-naked women looking at you from the walls.”
She was right. It was creepy. It didn’t feel like I was committing a crime. I felt like I was snooping in someone else’s bedroom. I was ready for Vaughn’s mom to pop up from behind the counter with a shotgun and fill my belly full of rock salt. I walked very carefully. I opened my wallet. I didn’t have to look—I knew I had eighteen dollars. I left it all on the counter and was about to walk out when a car pulled into the parking lot. The engine thumped loud, as if the muffler had rusted off. I hid quick behind a cardboard swimsuit model.
Talking. Laughter. Footsteps. The door to the liquor store opened. I saw high-tops and blue jeans. I heard a cooler open and close. A voice said, “That looks about right.” A hand slapped the counter. Footsteps out. Door closed. I squatted behind the swimsuit model until my knees went numb. The absolute worst thing in the whole world would be for someone to find me hiding like a chicken.
A hundred years later, the mystery car revved up and backed out of the parking lot with a friendly toot of the horn. I stayed put. Another hundred years later, there was a knock on the door. Laughter. The door opened. Clarissa said my name. I crawled out from behind the swimsuit model.
“There’s my boy!”
She hugged me close. She seemed drunker than before.
I said, “What’s the deal?”
“What’s the deal?” she repeated.
“Who was that?”
“D.J. Beckman. You didn’t recognize him?”
“I didn’t look.”
“Surely you recognized his car. You don’t need to see that thing to know it’s him.”
“That was the Nova?”
“Yep, but uglier. Just like him.”
When D.J. Beckman was a sophomore, he bought a beat-up, shitty 1972 Nova for two hundred dollars that he’d most likely pinched from his parents. The car was fast and loud and cool. It was a muscle car, built right before anyone started giving a fuck about mileage or safety or anything. It was also one good-sized badger mound from busting into a hundred pieces.
He always said he was going to restore it to mint condition. He never did. Instead, it remained perpetually on its last legs. Apparently, for twenty years and counting.
I said, “Was he on to us?”
“I told him that me and your dad were on a date.”
She was still holding me. I shook out of her arms. “That’s disgusting.”
She was hurt. “What’d you want me to tell him? That you were robbing Dee’s Liquor?”
“You coulda come up with something better than that. Anyway I was paying Dee’s Liquor. You robbed the place. If D.J. starts telling people you’re dating my pa . . .” I didn’t know what to say. There was nothing nice to say, that’s for sure. “That was dumb.”
Clarissa stopped being happy. “He ain’t gonna tell people me and your dad was on a date. In fact, I didn’t tell him that me and your dad were on a date. I was messing with you. What I really told him was that we came up here—the three of us—to buy some beers but the store was closed. We were about to leave when you decided you had to take a shit. And I told him you were behind the building squatting. He wanted to go scare the you-know-what out of you, but I talked him out of it.
“Then he said, ‘If you want something to drink, you just need to use the key under the doormat. Everyone knows that.’ Then he looked under the mat and didn’t see the key. I thought he might suspect us of something but he didn’t ’cause he’s an idiot. He just tried the door, pulled it open, walked in, and got some beers and schnapps. I even saw him put money on the counter.”
She pointed to the counter, which had no money on it.
She frowned. “Maybe he didn’t put any money on the counter. I couldn’t really tell from outside.”
“Maybe he took the money I left on the counter.”
She said, “That seems likely.”
“We need to leave something.”
“Even though Vaughn’s mom’s a creep.”
I said, “Even though.”
“I ain’t got anything, Shakes. You know that.”
“Everything I had is now in D.J. Beckman’s pocket.”
“Let’s just go,” said Clarissa.
“It ain’t right.”
“You wanna see if the credit card machine’s working?”
“You think?”
She grabbed my wrist and dragged me out the door. “You got no sense of sarcasm.”
Dad was in the car with an empty beer bottle in his hand. “Where’s the party?”
I said, “Night’s over.”
Clarissa said, “The night ain’t nothin’, Shakespeare.”
“It’s not even night,” said Dad. I didn’t correct him.
“Let’s go see Vaughn Atkins,” said Clarissa. “He’s all alone.”
I said, “No.”
“You said I was dumb,” said Clarissa.
“No.”
She dragged her finger under my chin. “We’ll talk about airplanes.”
We went to Vaughn Atkins’s house.
When we got there, Vaughn was lying on his bed watching a Kirk-era Star Trek episode on the TV. No sign of the wheelchair. He was still wearing his inside-out shirt and pajama pants. No tennis shoes. His legs looked straight.
He waved at us like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t fallen down a flight of steps a few hours ago.
I said, “You doing okay?”
He said, “Fine. Why?”
If he didn’t bring it up, I wouldn’t bring it up.
He said, “How was the game?”
Dad said, “Everybody lost.”
Laughter. We settled in.
Dad fell asleep on the beanbag almost instantly.
We watched TV, talked, and drank the beers we’d stolen from Vaughn’s mom’s store. During a commercial break, Clarissa asked Vaughn, “You sure your mom isn’t gonna come home and start yelling at you?”
Vaughn shut off the TV. “Who cares? Anyway, nights like this, she never gets back before midnight.”
I said, “What’s she doing, do you think?”
“Selling beer to minors, whoring around, skinning coyotes. What do I care? She’s a grown-up. You figure out how that banker ripped your dad off yet?”
“Yeah, you figure that out yet?” asked Clarissa. “You figure out how Crutchfield ripped you off?”
I said, “I’m not really interested in the how of it. What I really want to know is why he thinks he’s gonna get away with it. I’ll get answers. He’s going to meet with me. We were supposed to get together last Saturday, but he couldn’t make it. Neal Koenig said he’ll be back this next week. When I go in there, we’ll get it all cleared up.”
Clarissa burped incredulously. “You’re a sucker. Crutchfield was at the bank on Saturday. I don’t work on Saturdays, but I know that airplane. He lands it on the road and taxis out back behind the bank. I drove by. I saw it parked there. If the airplane was there, then Crutchfield was there. If Crutchfield was there, then Neal was lying to you when he said he couldn’t make it. You got lied to.” She made a face. “You need to figure out how to tell when people are fucking with you.”
“I need someone to empty my colostomy bag,” said Vaughn.
“We’re trying to converse,” said Clarissa.
“One of you’s gotta do it.”
“It ain’t gonna be me,” said Clarissa, waving her finger and head back and forth in a sassy maneuver that could have only been picked up from daytime TV. “Let Shakespeare do it. He can’t smell.”
I said, “Don’t use my handicap as an excuse to make me do your third-world bullshit chores.”
Vaughn said, “If this bag of shit doesn’t get off me, I’m gonna catch hepatitis. And which one of us is handicapped, again?” He glared at me.
I had dragged him up the stairs and watched him fall on his face. I should probably do anything he wanted for a very long time. “Fine,” I said. “Gimme.”
Vaughn reached under his shirt. He pulled out his fist and raised his middle finger. “You, my bard, are one gullible little bastard. Colostomy bag! I shit natural.”
He and Clarissa giggled. Dad snored.
Clarissa opened two more beers, handing one to Vaughn and tipping the other into her mouth. When her gulp was finished, she wiped her mouth with her forearm and said, “I feel like we’re really connecting.”
“You’ve got that right,” said Vaughn.
Clarissa said, “I feel like we’re on the same level. Like we’re part of a kinship.” She gritted her teeth. “Like that.”
“Like a waterfall,” said Vaughn.
“You wanna know something about me?” said Clarissa. “A secret?” She had reached the confessional stage of drunkenness. I was not at that stage.
I said, “Only if it’s intended to humiliate me.”
“Why you gotta say that? This is totally, totally, totally true. I want to tell you guys, both of you, ’cause you’re my friends.”
“We’re your friends, too, Clarissa,” said Vaughn. “Say anything you want. We’re right with you.”
She took a breath. Then, solemnly, she said, “I have emetophobia.”
Vaughn and I were silent. Without opening his eyes, Dad said, “I never met a phobia I didn’t like.” He resumed snoring.
“It means I’m afraid of vomit.”
“How do you survive?” asked Vaughn. He was not connecting with Clarissa quite as much now as he had been a moment ago.
Clarissa plowed on, oblivious to Vaughn’s sarcasm. “That’s not the point. Survival doesn’t apply to this situation. The point is that the situation applies to why I’m an anorexic. That’s my confession. I am Clarissa McPhail and I suffer from anorexia nervosa.”
Vaughn was fully not connecting with Clarissa now. “With all due respect—”
“Don’t you even say it. I know what you want to say and it’s crap. Just because I’m fat, you think I can’t possibly have an eating disorder. You’re wrong. I haven’t had a bite in over a week. If I keep this up, I’ll die. You’re the only people who know. Listen to me. I wanted to be bulimic, but I couldn’t because I’m afraid of vomiting. So I’m anorexic. I’ve stopped eating.”
“You aren’t anorexic,” said Vaughn.
“Yes,” said Clarissa, “I am.”
“Why?” asked Vaughn.
“Because.” She spoke in a tiny voice. “Because sometimes I feel ugly.”
She was sitting on the edge of Vaughn’s bed with her spandex bra and tight britches, hunched over, belly fat folded, hair messed up, a frown mushing up her face. Vaughn and I exchanged glances.
Vaughn looked her over. “You aren’t ugly.”
“No, I am,” said Clarissa.
“I don’t think you’re ugly,” I said.
“I think you’re purty,” said Vaughn.
I said, “You’re downright attractive.”
“A real looker.”
“Cute.”
“Hot.”
“Sexy.”
“Beautiful.”
Clarissa was glowing. We were all connecting again. We were all on the same side.
“Hey, Vaughn,” she asked, “you got any of those famous brownies I keep hearing about?”
Vaughn reached into his pillowcase and pulled out two plastic bags full of brown goop.
I said, “You sure that’s not your colostomy bag?”
Vaughn ignored me. “One bag contains hash brownies. One bag contains meth brownies.” He looked carefully at the bags. His eyes were crooked from the booze. “I can’t remember which is which. Anybody wanna play guinea pig?” He pulled a brownie out and handed it toward me.
I said, “Thanks, but kiss my ass.”
“Pussy,” said Vaughn.
Clarissa said, “Vaughn, you take one from one bag and I’ll take one from another bag. That way we’ll know which is in which.”
“Brilliant!” said Vaughn.
“You know,” I said, “you’d be just as successful if just one of you ate one brownie.”
The way they looked at me, I knew I had missed the point.
Vaughn tossed a brownie to Clarissa. It stuck in her cleavage. They both thought that was hilarious.
While they goofed around, I went upstairs to get another beer from Vaughn’s mom’s fridge. All the lights were off. I walked thru the living room, absorbing memories. The bathroom. That was the first place I ever took a shower. My family didn’t have a shower until I was twelve. Just a tub. It was a sleepover night and Vaughn and I had been playing in the mud all day. Vaughn’s mom told us to clean up for dinner. I went to the bathroom and stood in the shower stall. I didn’t know what to do, how long to stay in there, how to clean my toes. I remember I turned the hot water on full blast and stayed until it went cold. Luxury.
I heard Clarissa and Vaughn laughing downstairs. I contemplated leaving. I didn’t really want to go back down there and watch those two get messed up and stay awake all night confessing their insecurities and talking about old times and letting them make fun of me and us all just being losers in a basement. But Pa was down there.
I decided to slam a beer. That would improve my mood. I opened a bottle and started pouring it down my throat.
A car pulled into the driveway. I dropped the beer on the floor and sprinted downstairs.
“She’s home!”
“Shit!” said Vaughn.
“Who gives a fuck?” said Clarissa.
“Gimme another brownie,” said Pa.
Clarissa, Pa, and I hid in the downstairs bathroom with the lights off. We were all breathing heavy. On the other side of the door, I could hear Vaughn grinding his teeth in his bed. Footsteps on the ceiling above us.
The basement door opened. Vaughn’s mom yelled, “Whose car is that?”
Vaughn shouted, “What car?”
“That car in the driveway.”
“I didn’t know there was a car.”
“It looks like that faggot-mobile the Williams kid drives.”
“You’re drunk, Mom. Go to bed.”
A hand groped my crotch. I slapped it away.
“Sorry,” whispered Clarissa. “It’s so dark.”
“I’m over here,” whispered Pa.
I hissed at them both to shut up.
The basement door clunked shut. Safe. Footsteps upstairs. A toe struck a half-empty bottle of beer. A muffled what-the-fuck-is-this? The door to the basement opened again. “How’d this bottle get on the floor?”
I could hear Vaughn squint his eyes. He yelled up, “You probably dropped it on your way out the door.”
Vaughn’s mom was silent. Then she said, “I guess.”
Vaughn muttered, loud enough for me to hear thru the bathroom door, “Bitchosaurus.”
Vaughn’s mom said, “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Muttering again, he added, “Hitler with tits.”
Something was flung. “Don’t you ever!” Stomping down the stairs. Tripping, tumbling. Vaughn’s mom moaning in pain. Vaughn laughing.
I cracked the bathroom door. Vaughn’s mom was on her face on the carpet right where Vaughn had fallen earlier that day. Her legs were akimbo.
Vaughn cackled with glee. “The drunken toad fell down the stairs! Come on, run! Git! Before she gets up.”
Seemed reasonable. “Pa, we’re moving out!” No response. I turned on the bathroom light. He and Clarissa were in the deep embrace of— Oh, Christ. I nearly retched.
“Move it!” shouted Vaughn in evil delight. “She’s gonna get you!”
I grabbed Pa by the hand and dragged him away from Clarissa’s lips, out of the bathroom, past Vaughn’s whimpering mother, up the stairs, and out of the house. Clarissa followed, stopping to get more beers out of the fridge before she joined us in the car.
I drove us thru the country wild and fast.