Funland (18 page)
“That was very thoughtful of you,” Gloria said.
Dave saw that Joan had raised the zipper of her dress a few inches higher. The moist spots on the fabric hadn’t quite gone away. They were faint, though.
“I’ll get another glass,” Dave said.
“Are you sure I’m not interrupting?” Gloria asked.
Joan shook her head.
Dave rushed into the kitchen. He reached into the cupboard with his left hand this time, and managed not to awaken his pain as he took down a wineglass.
When he returned to the living room, Gloria was seated on the couch. Where Joan had been sitting.
Could she feel Joan’s warmth on the cushion?
So what if she can? Dave told himself.
She sat stiffly, hands folded on her lap, eyes darting from Joan to Dave.
He didn’t want to think about what she must be feeling right now.
He took the glass to the table and lifted the champagne bottle. “Just a dab,” Gloria said. “Besides, I see there’s not much left.”
“We’ve been knocking it back pretty good,” Dave said, hoping to lighten the situation. Gloria arched an eyebrow. He filled her glass halfway to the top before she stopped him.
He turned toward Joan with the bottle. She shook her head. “No more for me, thanks. I really should be getting home.”
“Oh, don’t rush off on my account,” Gloria said.
“Debbie and I usually eat about now.” She stood up. “Are you going to take tomorrow off, Dave?”
“No, I’ll be in.”
“Can’t keep a good man down,” Gloria said.
Dave set down the bottle and walked Joan to the door. “Thanks for coming by,” he said. “The medication helped.” He stepped onto the porch with her, but left the door open for Gloria’s sake.
“Sorry if I made trouble for you,” Joan whispered.
“You didn’t.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
He wanted to hold her. He kept his hands at his sides. “Take it easy, huh?”
“You too.”
He watched her walk to her car. Then, with a sigh, he entered the house and closed the door.
“You two must’ve had quite a party,” Gloria said.
“We had a tough day. Both of us.”
“Did you enjoy consoling one another?”
He leaned over the table and filled his glass with champagne. He took it to the rocker.
“Oh, that’s nice. Keep your distance.”
“You’re in a lousy mood.”
“Oh, and I should be delighted to walk in and find Joan here, half-smashed?”
A few choice disclaimers ran through Dave’s mind: it’s not what you think; nothing happened; there’s no reason to be jealous.
Lies.
“What was I supposed to do?” he asked. “Send her away?”
“And miss out on the sheer pleasure of her company? I hardly think so.”
“She doesn’t come in and start giving me a hard time.”
“Oh, I suspect she gave you a very hard time. I saw that cute little dress she was wearing. I saw the guilt on her face…and yours. What were you doing before I put in my untimely appearance? More than drinking, I should imagine.”
“Don’t push it, Gloria.”
“Oh, I touched a nerve?”
“I got stabbed today. I’m really not in any mood for one of your scenes.”
“Didn’t she kiss it and make it all better?”
“What’s happened to you?”
“To me?” Her eyebrows darted high.
“You’ve turned into a real bitch. All of a sudden, the past couple of weeks, you’ve been acting like your chief goal in life is to give me grief. If it isn’t my eating habits, it’s my politics. If it isn’t that, you’re giving me shit about Joan. I’m sick of it.”
“And I’m sick of her. Has that occurred to you as a possibility? It’s not enough you spend eight hours a day with your golden girl, you insist upon inflicting her on me
all the time.
It’s Joan did this, Joan said that. We even had her to a goddamn
barbecue
so you wouldn’t be deprived of her presence on your day off.”
“Calm down.”
“Do you know how many times
we’ve fucked
since she came into the picture?”
Dave didn’t answer. He took a drink of champagne.
“Not once. Not once!”
“Well…”
“You’ve been putting it to her all along, haven’t you? Haven’t you!”
“I think you should leave now.”
“You and that slut have been—”
“Shut up!” He lurched to his feet and pointed at the door. “Get out. I’ve had enough.”
Gloria sprang up, glaring at him, shaking her head. “Oh, this is cute. This is very cute.” Back rigid, she walked toward the door. “So long, Gloria,” she said, not looking back. Her voice was a quiet, lilting singsong. “Ta-ta. I had my fun with you, time to throw you away. You’re no match for the golden Amazon bitch. Ta-ta. Fuck off, now, there’s a good girl.”
“Wait,” Dave said.
He didn’t want her to wait; he wanted her gone, but not like this. It shouldn’t end this way, Gloria jabbering about being discarded like trash, sounding like a madwoman.
She opened the door.
“Gloria.”
She stopped. She turned around and raised her eyebrows. “Did the pig speak? Is it sorry? Is it feeling guilty? And what does the pig have to say?”
Forget it, he thought. What he said was, “Oink.”
Instead of calling it quits at six, as she had done yesterday, Robin took a short break. She ate a hot dog, then stationed herself above the main stairs to the beach and resumed playing and singing.
It hardly seemed worth the effort.
Few people had remained at Funland after the fog rolled in, and even fewer seemed willing to stand around and listen to her music. She was cold herself. Though the windbreaker kept her top warm, the chill, moist air seemed to soak through her jeans. She couldn’t play with gloves on. Between songs, she tucked her hands into the warmth under her armpits.
As she stood there in the cold, playing for two or three people and sometimes gaining a quarter for her efforts, her mind wandered to all the places she would rather be. Warm places. A café, the movie theater, her sleeping bag. She even imagined herself checking into a motel and settling into a bathtub full of hot, hot water.
But she had to be here instead. Thanks to Poppinsack.
Working for a few coins to build up her stake. So she could afford warm places, so tomorrow or the day after, she could afford to hit the road out of this nest of bums, thieves, and trollers.
All day she’d been keeping a lookout for the fat old man in the buckskin jacket and feathered derby.
He must’ve made himself scarce, just in case she had ignored his advice to flee town.
While her hands were busy playing a Stephen Foster medley (though she realized she had no audience at the moment), her mind replayed the scene she had already imagined so many times.
She is crouched out of sight and Poppinsack comes staggering over the crest of the moon-washed dune. He sees her and doffs his hat. “Ah-ha, we meet again. How do you fare, Cockless Robin?” Pretending he’s glad to see her. And coming down the slope.
She stands and pulls her knife on him. “You’ve got something that belongs to me, you thieving rat.”
“Nonsense. Balderdash.”
“Turn your pockets out,” she snaps.
“You do me wrong, lassie. ’Twas’t Poppinsack dipped into your dainties and snatched the treasure.”
“Don’t try it!” she suddenly shouted, clamping her hands over the banjo strings as a wino lurched in from the side, crouched beside her case, and clawed out a folded dollar bill. “Hey!” She took a step toward him, but he lurched away, spun around, and ran, his long coat flapping behind him.
Robin stood there watching him flee, wanting to go after him. If she left her things here…
The bum tried to run past a man coming down the boardwalk. The man swung an arm up. The bum’s face hit it. He flopped onto his back. The man stepped on his wrist, bent down, and took the bill. When he lifted his foot off the wrist, the bum scurried toward the side of the boardwalk, rolled under the railing, and dropped out of sight.
The man came toward her, holding up the dollar and smiling. Robin saw that he wasn’t very old, maybe eighteen. He wore jeans and a plaid shirt, and his hair was short. He looked athletic and clean-cut, the kind of guy you might find wearing a varsity letter sweater in the halls of a high school.
“Here you go,” he said, and gave the dollar to her.
“Thanks.” Robin stuffed it into a pocket of her windbreaker. “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”
“No trouble. It’s always a pleasure to clothesline a guy who’ll stoop to stealing from a woman.”
“Name’s Robin,” she said, and held her hand out.
“Nate,” he told her, shaking it.
His hand felt warm and strong.
“How’s business?” he asked.
“Booming,” Robin said, and swept an arm toward her huge invisible audience.
“That’s how it is, usually, when the fog’s in. I went ahead and closed up early.”
“You work here?”
“Sure.” He gestured behind himself with a thumb. “Have you checked out the arcade?”
“Huh-uh.”
“Well, if you had, I’m the guy who would’ve given you change.”
“I’m the gal who wouldn’t have needed any. I’ve got quarters up the…I get a lot of quarters.”
“The way you sing and play, you oughta be on a stage getting twenty bucks a head.”
“Well, thanks.”
“I’ve been listening from the arcade. Couldn’t make out the lyrics too well, but you sure play a mean banjo. I’ve never heard anything like it.”
Robin smiled and shrugged.
“Matter of fact, it isn’t right for me to enjoy it that much and not shell out.” He reached to his rear pocket and took a wallet out.
“No. Please. You nailed that bum for me…”
“I insist.” He took out a twenty-dollar bill.
“No. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I don’t want to force it on you.”
“Then put it away. Please.”
“I tell you what. Suppose you sing a song for me, and I’ll throw a buck or something into your case.”
“I guess that’s fair enough.”
She took a couple of steps backward and began to play for her audience of one. As she picked the quick, bouncy lead-in, she saw a smile spread across his face. His head bobbed with the rhythm, and Robin began to sing:
Kelly and Katie took off one day
For the Land of Purr where the kitty-cats play.
They packed their pockets with nacho chips,
Bubble gum, jelly, and chocolate lips,
Then hit the road for the Land of Purr
So fast on their skates they were just a blur.
Along about noon they stopped for a snack
Under the shade of a bamboo shack
—
Where who should they meet but a cat named Clew
Who said, “I’m Clew! So who are you?”
“We’re Kelly and Katie and we’re on our way
To the Land of Purr where the kitty-cats stay.”
“May I come too?” asked the cat named Clew.
“I’m hungry here since the birdies flew
—
And I have no ears, as you can see,
So I can’t hear the mice when they’re close to me.
“It’s been three weeks since I’ve munched a bird
And a mouse hasn’t passed these lips, my word!
—
Since the awful day that the Dog of Toff
A year ago chewed my ears right off!”
“Oh, dear! Poor Clew!” said Kate and Kelly.
“Please eat some nacho chips and jelly.
After you’ve cleaned it off your fur
You can come with us to the Land of Purr.”
So Clew ate a snack, and when she was through
Each girl gave a skate, so Clew had two
—
And they all set out. What a happy crew!
They hit the road and away they flew.
Kelly, Katie, and little gray Clew
Were off for the land where the grass was blue
And the sky was green and the kitty-cats grew
Soft and beautiful and
Sometimes
Often
Uh-oh!
A little weird, too.
Smiling at Nate, she did a quick shuffling dance as she finished the tune.
He clapped and shook his head. “Hey, that was great!”
“A little silly, maybe…”
“It’s
your
song?”
“Yeah, I write a lot of them. That one’s meant for kids, actually, in case you hadn’t guessed. It goes on and on.”
“Really? They run into that Dog of Toff?”
“Sure do.”
“I’ve got to get a move on, but I’d sure like to hear the rest of it sometime.”
“I guess I’ll still be around tomorrow.”
“Good. Don’t rush off.” Bending over, he dropped a folded bill into the banjo case.
“Thanks,” she said.
“It was really nice meeting you, Robin. See you tomorrow, huh?”
She nodded. “See you. And thanks for the help.”
“Anytime.” He started backing away. “So long.”
“’Bye.”
He raised a hand in farewell, then turned around and strode toward the main gate.
Poppinsack peered at the clock behind the bar. “Today,” he said, “has tumbled into tomorrow and become yesterday. And a fine day it was, indeed.”
He hoisted his glass of Scotch toward the clock, winked, and gulped it empty.
He climbed off the bar stool and tucked his half-read paperback into the duffel bag. It went in on top of his other new books and bottles. He clipped the bag shut and hefted it. “Ah, ’tis a weighty matter. Santa’s own bag, itself, was never packed with such delights. Yuletide in summer.”
Singing “Deck the Halls,” he lumbered to the tavern door and stepped outside.
He sucked the fresh night air into his nostrils, and sighed. “Delicious,” he proclaimed. “The elixir of the gods, best savored with a belly full of hooch.”
He adjusted the canvas strap of the duffel bag on his shoulder, tipped back his hat with the knobby handle of his cane, and continued on his way.