Blue World (37 page)

She answered, in that voice that made his bones shake, “Yeah, this’ll do it. Oh, wait a sec. I need some raisin bran.”

And then, as John strode quickly down the aisle toward the register, he came into contact with Debra Rocks.

She was there in front of him, her arms burdened with groceries, before he could stop. They crashed together, and the impact staggered them both back. The girl said, “Shit!” and dropped her carton of eggs and they smacked hard on the floor. A package of Charmin tumbled out of her grip, and a plastic bottle of Wesson Lite hit the floorboards.

John Lancaster reeled back, stumbled into a rack of paperback books, and the things went everywhere. Then, trying to keep from falling on his ass, he grabbed hold of a rack of cigarette cartons and those too flew into destruction. He did go down on his butt, and he sat there stunned and red-faced.

“You… dumb shit!”

Debra Rocks shouted. “Look what you did! You broke my eggs!”

“I’m sorry. Really. I’m sorry,” he babbled, his cheeks flaming. “I didn’t mean to--”

“Oh, crap!” she said, waving away his apologies with an impatient hand. She glanced back at the cash register, where the two punks were buying six bottles of wine. The elderly woman with the snood had gotten in line behind them. “You made me lose my place in line!” Debra snapped. He couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark glasses, and maybe that was for the best, because the anger in them might have broken his heart.

He got to his feet. “Please… let me help you.” He picked up the carton of eggs, and yellow yolks oozed out.

“Forget it!” she said bitterly, and then she picked up her oil and Charmin and went back to get a fresh carton of eggs.

John sat there, in cigarette cartons and egg yolks. He looked down, saw ten or twelve packs of Luckies scattered around him. Luckies, he thought. Oh, yes, this was certainly his lucky day, all right! First he had followed a porno star and then he had broken her eggs and had her curse a blue streak at him. He felt disgusted with himself, totally sickened at what he’d done. Well, it was time to get up and go home. He had met Debra Rocks, and this was enough.

A Latino boy came to clean up the mess, his eyes shooting daggers at John. John got up, brushed off the seat of his jeans, and went past the cash register where Debra Rocks was angrily putting her items down to be checked. He didn’t look at her, but she glanced at him and said, “You’ve got eggs on your ass!”

He got out fast, his head lowered with shame.

“Can you beat that?” she asked Anna, Giro’s wife. “Guy busted hell out of the place and didn’t even buy anything!”

“I think he must be on drugs. Better to let him go than start a scene.”

“This neighborhood’s drawin‘ a lot of creeps.” She watched the total come up, and took the money from her purse. She paid the creep no attention as he began to walk the bike slowly, defeatedly, away up the slope of Raphael Street.

“How’s your acting coming along?” Anna asked as she counted out the change.

“Oh… fine. I’m up for a bit part in a soap opera. Might go to New York next month. And I just finished a commercial.”

“Really? For what?”

“Um… this right here.” She held up the Wesson bottle. “You don’t see me in it much, though. I’m just… like… sittin‘ at a table while the hubby and kids tell me how good a cook I am. That’s a laugh.” She nodded toward the half dozen frozen dinners Anna was sacking for her.

“I’ll look for it,” Anna said brightly. “You know, Giro’s nephew from Sacramento is coming next weekend. You remember, I showed you his picture. Handsome boy, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Real handsome.”

“I can maybe introduce you, if you like. He’s a popular boy with the ladies.”

Her brow furrowed. “Next weekend? Oh, I’m modelin‘ at a car show in Anaheim! Had it set up two months ago. Sorry.”

“You don’t worry, I’m going to get you and Julius together! A pretty young girl like you ought to have a steady boyfriend!”

“Yeah,” she agreed, picking up her groceries, “I ought to. See you next time.” She took two steps, and brushed a little metal rod attached to a counter on the cash register. The counter’s number had been 763. Now it clicked over to

--and an alarm bell went off.

Debbie jumped and almost said

What the fuck is that? but checked herself. She knew what it was, though she’d never won the contest before and never had expected to.

“Hey! Look at the number!” Anna said delightedly. “Well, it’s about time you won the contest!” She switched off the bell, picked up a microphone, and turned it on. “Giro! We got a winner! You know who it is? That nice girl Debbie Stoner!”

“I’ve… never won anything in my life!” she said, still a little dumbfounded. “I mean, never.”

“This must be your lucky day, then!” Anna opened the cash register and handed the girl her prize money: one hundred and fifty dollars. Giro, a thin man with curly gray hair, came up to the front with his Polaroid. “Debbie, stand over there!” He motioned toward a white background sheet taped to the wall that had giro’s corner on it and was covered with the Polaroid snapshots of previous monthly winners. “Come on, we’ve got to get a good picture!”

Debbie looked through the window. The man who had bumped into her was almost to the top of the hill. She saw him pause and rub his legs, as if his calves were cramping. She realized that she wouldn’t have won the money if she hadn’t had to go back for unbroken eggs.

“Stand right there, Debbie!” Giro directed, and she stood on a red X that had been taped to the floor in front of the other pictures. “Take your sunglasses off, now! And let’s have a big smile!”

She hesitated at taking off the shades. “The flash’ll hurt my eyes.”

“No, there’s no flash! Come on! Be proud of your beauty!”

Her hand slowly rose, and she removed the sunglasses. Her deeply tanned, lovely face had high, sculptured cheekbones, and her nose was thin-bridged and sharp. Her gorgeous charcoal-gray eyes held hints of deep blue, and they blazed with intense inner fires.

“Big smile now!” Giro urged.

Her lips, which were pale and only lightly glossed, made a pinched semismile.

“Think of something funny!” Anna said.

I could give you a smile, she thought, that would blow that camera apart. But she liked Giro and his wife, and she didn’t want to fuck them over. So she let the pinched, false smile remain on her face, and Giro said, “Cheese!” and snapped the picture.

“Julius is going to fall in love when he sees this picture!” Anna said excitedly.

Debbie looked toward the bike rider again. He had gone over the top of the hill and out of sight. Her heart had started beating a little harder. She shoved the hundred and fifty dollars into the pocket of her jeans. “Listen… I’ve gotta go. You folks take care now!” She headed quickly for the door.

“Don’t spend all that money in one place!” Giro told her, and she waved and left with her sackful of groceries. She began running up Raphael Street.

“Such a lovely girl,” Anna commented. “Gonna make somebody a fine wife.”

“Like Julius, you mean. Well, let’s see what we’ve got here.” Giro bent down to examine the box of magazines that had come in from the distributor about an hour ago. He moved aside copies of

GQ, Mother Earth News, All-Pro Wrestling, and the

Atlantic Monthly.

“Why do we get that trash?” Anna asked, and motioned distastefully toward one of the magazines.

“Because they sell, that’s why.” He pushed aside the six copies of

X-Rated Movie Review.

On its cover was “Today’s Hottest Stars! Sunny Honeycutt! Debra Rocks! Giselle Pariss!”

The aerobics classes Debbie took five days a week paid off for her. She reached the top of the hill and saw the blond-haired man walking down the reverse slope about sixty feet away.

John’s legs had stopped cramping. It was that last ride, following the speeding Fiat, that had knotted up his calf muscles. Still, they were going to be sore for quite a few days. He took three more paces, and then he got on his bike. It was going to be a painful ride home. But maybe he deserved the pain. Maybe it was God, reminding him to walk the straight-and-narrow. Not worthy! he thought, and he felt close to a sob. Oh, Jesus… not wor--

“Hey you! Hold up a minute!”

Her voice. By now he would recognize it anywhere. He looked around, and he saw her approaching him, walking along Raphael between the Victorian town houses and apartment buildings.

“Who…

me?“

was all he could think to say.

“I don’t see anybody else,” she answered. She had put on her sunglasses again. She came on toward him, her ponytail swinging.

Time seemed to freeze for him. It seemed to stop like a photograph, and if he lived to be a hundred years old he would never forget the sight of Debra Rocks coming toward him in the golden October sunlight. She got within fifteen feet.

“Want a buttered finger?” he thought he heard her ask.

He almost choked.

“What?”

“You know.” She reached him, stood right in front of him. She put her hand down into the grocery bag. “A Butterfinger,” she said, and offered him the candy bar.

He didn’t know if he flushed crimson or went white, but he managed to say, “Thanks,” and he took the candy from her.

“They’re my favorite. Used to be I liked Almond Joys best, but they did somethin‘ to the coconut. They don’t taste like they used to.”

There was a sense of unreality about this. John felt as if he were perspiring on the inside of his skin. His legs were still throbbing fiercely, and he didn’t know if he could pedal three blocks, much less make it back to the church. She watched as he peeled the Butterfinger’s wrapper back and took a nervous bite.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“John,” he said before he could think about it.

“Oh, another John,” she said, mostly to herself, and she smiled slightly. Fine lines, as precise as if etched by an artist’s pen, bracketed her lips. “What’s the rest of it?”

“Uh…” What, indeed? And as his mind raced he remembered, crazily, the packs of cigarettes strewn around him in the grocery store. “Lucky.”

Her smile slipped a notch or two. “You’re kiddin,”

she said.

“Why? Isn’t that a good name?”

“John Lucky,” she repeated. Thought about it, and shook her head. “This has been one strange day!”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Lucky,” she said. “I like that. It kinda grows on you, huh?”

John shrugged, had the sensation that behind her dark glasses her eyes were picking him to pieces, seeing right through the pores of his skin to his soul. At any moment he expected her to say,

You’re a holy guy, aren’t you?

But instead, what Debra Rocks said was, “I live a block that way,” and she motioned in the direction of her building. She turned and started walking toward the corner. John just sat on his bike and stared. In another moment she stopped and looked around. “You comin‘, Lucky?”

He knew there were moments of great decision in life. Sometimes you were prepared for them, and you could handle them easily. Most times, though, they were like this: there without warning, and, once offered and refused, would never be offered again. The question hung in the air like a ripe fruit. Shame speared him; he thought: I

have seen your sexual organs, and somehow that seemed so indecent, as if he were a voyeur who’d peeped his eye through her keyhole. Well, he thought, I

am a voyeur. A wretched, unworthy…

“You want to come on, you’re welcome,” she said, and she began walking away again.

In another few seconds she heard--as she knew she would--the squeak of the bike’s tires as he walked it along behind her.

Debra Rocks unlocked the door to her third-floor apartment, and John stepped across the threshold.

Her apartment was not seedy, or nasty, or look as if she lived out of cardboard boxes. In fact, it was nice. The living room was small, but the furniture--sofa, chairs, and coffee table--were tasteful and clean. On the walls were not posters of porno movies but framed photographs of sunrises, sunsets, and the ocean. John could see a little slice of the bay from her window; the water was reddening as the afternoon aged. The room smelled vaguely of spices-- incense, he thought it must be. Or scented candles, because there were a lot of candles around. But what really amazed John was the number of potted cacti she owned. Not only were they standing like gnarled green sentinels on the sill of the high bay window, but there were at least fifteen more of varying sizes in clay pots around the room.

She set the sack of groceries on the pale green kitchen counter. “I guess you see I like cactus, huh?”

He nodded.

“They’re tough,” she said. “They grow even when nobody takes care of ‘em.” She started putting the groceries away. “You want a chain and padlock?”

“Pardon me?”

“A chain and padlock. For your bike.” They’d left it down in the vestibule. “You ought to lock it up or somebody’ll rip it off for sure.” She slid her sunglasses up onto her head, and John stared at her face. His heart had swollen again. Oh, that face! She glanced up at him, then rummaged in a drawer and offered him a slim chain, a padlock, and a key. “Better go down and lock it up right now.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I’d better.” He took the chain, and felt an electric charge tingle up his arm as their fingers brushed. He walked to the door.

“You live around here, Lucky?” she asked, putting away the frozen dinners.

“Close by,” he answered.

That seemed to satisfy her. John went out, and eased down the stairs on his aching legs. He stood next to his bike, chain and padlock in hand. He could see that the shadows were growing on the street. The time was becoming late. There would be Mass in the morning, and he must pray and ready himself for its spiritual rigors. It was time--past time--to leave this place and go back to the church.

She was upstairs. Three flights up. Waiting for him. Yes, him alone. No one else in the theater now; just he and she, and a film yet to be created.

Stop it, he told himself. Stop it, you damned fool! If you dared to make love to that woman, you would be casting both yourself and her into eternal, wandering purgatory!