CHAPTER 8
“Jesus Chirst, Paisley!”
Ghosts emerged from the night. Spirits: groping, scratching, and yawning in silence like a mime troupe in search of a bathroom, a drink, and a smoke.
Melisa stirred. And when Santo sensed her wakefulness, he whispered, “You want to get up?”
“I don't know.”
“You want a beer?”
Emphatically. “No.”
“Me neither.” He listened to the ghosts. “How can they get up and start right into the juice like that?”
Melisa rolled over. “I don't know and I don't care.”
He rolled over in the same direction and snuggled against her. He grew accustomed to the dark as he continued to listen to the others.
“That's the last cold beer,” he heard Julian say.
“And it's mine,” Nat said.
“Always looking out for yourself.”
“There's ice in the freezer.”
“Was Gladys any good?”
“Why don't you go and ask her?”
“I might do just that. Man, I've got to get laid.”
“Then get laid. You know how it's done.”
“I don't know what's wrong with me lately.”
“You've got to hit on a chick if you want anything, Julian.”
“I know that.”
“Then what's this lesson for?”
“Maybe he's turning a new leaf,” Kerry interjected.
“Get away from me, you faggot mother…”
“Ah, ah…be nice.”
“Hand me that case of beer, Kerry.”
“If you stack the beer in the refrigerator, I'll break out some ice and fill our glasses.”
Julian grumbled. “Ice in beer?”
“Do you have a better idea?” Kerry said.
Reluctantly. “No.”
“Then it's ice and beer, dearie. Give me a kiss.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck me if you dare.”
Nat laughed.
Santo was suddenly startled by the sound of the screen door slamming shut on the front porch. He sat up on the mattress.
“Please, pilgrims, do not fear! Your savior, Paisley, is finally here!”
“Jesus Christ, Paisley! Scare the hell out of us, why don't you.”
“Okay.”
Paisley let out a blood-curdling scream that finally aroused Melisa.
“Who the hell was that?” she asked.
“I don't know. It's someone called Paisley.”
She sat up. “Paisley! That's our acid. Come on.”
They bumped into Gladys in the hallway on their way to the kitchen, where the light presented a harsh and uncertain reality—in direct contrast to the soft and reliable dream world that Gladys and Melisa and Santo emerged from. The remnants of their vulnerability still clung to them as they squinted to the light.
Paisley took advantage of the situation and sprang into a handstand to prolong their disorientation.
“Cut it out, Paisley,” Gladys said.
“As one who lives with the anticipation that only seven…I repeat, seven Purple Domes can bring…how could I possibly act in any other way!”
“Seven! Paisley, you're a genius,” Kerry said. He gave Paisley a warm hug.
“Seven at what price?” Gladys asked.
“At the all-time low of five dollars a hit…even though this town is as dry as a bleached bone. That means the acid is yours at absolutely no profit to me…if, of course, someone is willing to buy the seventh one for me. Gas money, that's all I'm asking for.”
“Can you handle it, Rick?”
“Sure.”
“Then this is the real thing!” Julian said. “You hear that, Nat? We're going to get high tonight…high tonight…forever and ever high tonight.”
Nat and Julian danced in a childish do-si-do while Santo handed Paisley the money.
Paisley possessed a pair of crazy eyes, a jovial face, and a kooky disposition. He was short, stocky, and muscular. He wore a pair of scruffy jean overalls without a shirt and a pair of sneakers without socks. A hairy chest revealed itself along the bib edge of his overalls. And a thick, curly, black head of hair grew past his ears, down his face, and into a beard and mustache. His voice was deep and happy and always booming.
“Let's drop the acid and go to Apalachicola. We can trip all night on the beach…my treat!”
Everybody applauded Paisley's suggestion.
“Is your car still running, Nat?”
“Of course it is, Pais.”
“Then you and I will drive…that is, unless…” Paisley glanced at Santo.
“That's okay by me,” Santo said.
“Then let's get dressed, girls and boys!”
They dropped the acid, knowing they had a good hour before it took effect. Then they loaded beer, wine, and cigarettes into the cars before splitting the group in two: Nat and Gladys, Santo and Melisa in the Chevrolet; Paisley Kerry, and Julian in the Volkswagen with a milk carton glued to its roof.
The moon was a transparent piece of crystal upon a clear night. It hung radiantly above the din of beach preparation. Santo was struck by its meaninglessness and, for no reason at all, sensed a calm purposelessness in his life. He was becoming familiar with this feeling and began to welcome the experience whenever it came. He never knew why or how or when it would happen but he was glad to receive the gift of its peace…the sense of its beauty…and…
“Hey, Rick, are you coming with us or not?” Nat shouted from behind the wheel of his car.
Santo hurriedly stepped into the Chevrolet and locked the door in a self-conscious effort to protect his private moment.