Bobbie felt like her days were spent on a rollercoaster; the night of the concert had been an entire amusement park. She needed some peace — not to forget, that would be impossible. But some temporary equilibrium would be welcome. Medicating — not her style. She didn’t want to confess to anyone, although she did break down on the phone with her mama, who signed off with “Y’all come home, Bobbie Jean,” a slightly better choice than her usual “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free” warning. Exercise was good, but how many hours a day could a girl spend on a Stairmaster? The calls from Delray weren’t helping; she’d just about jumped out of her skin when the call display indicated “The Sunset Lagoon — x222” as the source. Her hands hadn’t stopped shaking till long after she’d gotten rid of Delray, whose swagger had reached epic proportions. She’d been fascinated, admittedly, seeing his video for the first time, but now it just seemed supremely stupid. The fact that he was hooked up with Uncle Strange was too twisted to believe. What really did her in was hearing “Swan Dive” on the radio, in Backpages Bookstore, in the cereal aisle of Earth’s Bounty, and in her bedroom with the curtains pulled at any time of day or night. Her life was in that song, and reliving it brought out the best and worst of emotions.
Work, of course, turned out to be the best distraction. She increasingly saw herself as an actor, an improviser, writing as she went along in the course of her car phone sex calls. The clientele was growing, and she felt strangely creative in her work of late, adding new detail and variety to each fantasy. Stuck in traffic on the 405 or passing the exit for Carpinteria, Bobbie wove details of exotic locations into her seductions — the bat cave at Griffith Park, the caboose at Travel Town, the Palisades Library copier room. Tantalizing references to kiwi fruit and taco sauce were added to taste as she sipped on an ice-blended mocha frapp. Like a travelling DJ, Bobbie mixed Nepalese trance music with Berlin cabaret and Nova Scotian jigs at will.
Exhausted from a call featuring an elaborate fantasy involving a slow drive through a midnight car wash in a convertible Rolls filled with rose petals, Bobbie pulled off Sunset into the Heavenly Blessings Garden and Meditation Center. Breathing in a combination of evening jasmine and salty air, she made her way to a little stone bench in a secluded part of the gardens. Eyes closed, her mind attuned to her breath, her heart all but stopped before pounding violently at the sound of that well-oiled voice. “Did you enjoy the concert, Bobbie?”
“Hells bells, you pretty near scared me to death.” She hadn’t heard Uncle approach, but Bobbie was keenly aware that no one else was in sight. “What are you doin’ sneakin’ around here anyway?” She wrapped her arms across her chest as if the temperature had suddenly plummeted.
“Sorry I startled you. This is my little getaway from the madness.” He smiled warmly, and she could hear the cellphone pulse in his pocket. “How are you doing since …” he left it hanging, “Bobbie, I feel badly that I didn’t get to know you better while.… I mean, I was the manager and you were the girlfriend.” This was punctuated by that ridiculous Buddha palms gesture she’d seen before. “Are you … is everything all right? This hasn’t been easy for any of us, least of all you, I’m sure.” He seemed to be toying with her.
Bobbie couldn’t rid her mind of images of the spider and the fly, and every pore was alert to the risk that she felt in this moment. What could he do? It didn’t matter; she felt vulnerable and afraid. “I’m fine. We were … Roc and I were about done anyway…. I mean, I miss him something terrible … but I’ve got my friends, my work.”
“What do you do?” he asked abruptly with something indefinable in his eyes.
“I drive … I mean it’s a car job … you know, the valet girls who park cars at swanky parties … just till I find something else … it’s fun. It’s all right, you know.” She could hear the defensiveness in her own voice.
“Cool. Have you got a card?” His eyebrows arched unnaturally.
“I suppose, let me look.” Bobbie dug into her purse and in the dim light didn’t notice the one she handed Uncle. “Listen, I was just about to head out. I’m plumb mellowed out.”
“‘Swan Dive’ was for you, wasn’t it?” Bobbie felt like she’d been stabbed. Uncle looked away toward the little man-made lake as if expecting a swan to swim by on cue. The wind passed through nearby chimes.
“I don’t know.” She remained frozen, her voice faint.
“Songwriters.” Uncle grinned as though it was the final word on the matter.
“Yeah.” The breath burst out of her.
“So, Delray to Roc. You’ve got interesting taste in men.” For this comment she would always despise him.
“Yeah, well, Delray, bless his pointed head, was the prom date from hell. Or would’ve been, if he hadn’t passed out in his truck while I was getting ready.”
“Why do I find that totally believable? A waste of good crinoline, I imagine too.” He did that weird thing with the head tilt and hands up like he was blessing the damn flock.
“Well, you know, when a hillbilly gets lit, that’s it.”
Uncle smiled again and seemed to put away the blade. “I’ll walk you to your car.” He stood motionless above her.
“Obliged.”
As they circled the lake, Bobbie’s breathing settled, and they passed a few other early evening visitors. The fear she’d been feeling was changing into something else, and she stopped at the edge of the parking lot as a realization hit her. “You sent me that photo, didn’t you?” Uncle’s face was hidden from the light. “The one of the girl with Roc in the shirt I gave him for his birthday.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t rightly know, Uncle.” She spoke his name like it described something stuck on her shoe. “But from what I understand, you don’t do anything without a reason.”
He grinned as she strode away, looking at the card that read “Hot Wheels” with a number and no name.