Shelby (7 page)

“Um … nose,” I said, not really concentrating.

“Wrong,” she said. “Nipple.”

“Nipple?” I said.

“Yeah. Nipple,” she said.

I opened my eyes. It took about five seconds for them to adjust to the candle-light. Lucy was sitting in front of me, cross-legged and naked, covering her breasts with her arms. Her clothes were on her lap.

“You're naked,” I said.

“And you think that's destiny? Shit, even if God had written you a script like that, his angels would have edited the crap out of it. It's not destiny, Shel. It's life. And what's gonna happen next is a mystery, too. Do you know how bored God would get if he knew what came next? At best he's an understaffed zookeeper. He can't keep up with the calls on his heavenly switchboard. Take a look around, Shel. Have you seen the papers? The world's a mess. L.A. is on fire! Who in his right mind would plan that?”

“A married Baptist couple and their small child came to Eric's door last week and told us all these miseries have been prophesied—preplanned, if you will—and that we should make some quick decisions.”

“Oh geez! Converting the terrified. L.A. has burnt to the ground. What does it mean? And we're here. What does it mean? Luck. That's it. And we should be thankful.” Lucy stood up in the dim light. She pulled a record out of its sleeve. “It's this week's favourite,” she said. “And while L.A. burns, and the Kurds rot, and another woman is raped somewhere in this big ol' land, and Miss J.W. 1992 walks around door to door saying Armageddon is next Tuesday at four, just like her Daddy did twenty years earlier, and while your dreams of destiny go down the fucking tube, I'm going to play it!” All I could see was the shadow of her back. “Because
I like it
.” All I could hear was the crackling of what sounded like an old album. The music started playing.

“
Take Five
!” I yelled.

“You know this?” she said.

“Yeah I know it! I love it! Dave Brubeck! My brother loves this genre—as do I, second only to Baroque! Charles Mingus. Miles Davis. Theodore Monk. Charlie Parker. Derek'd sit in his bedroom for hours blowing on his clarinet—or his licorice stick as he'd call it! Ha! He was good, too!” I got so excited I almost forgot she was naked.

“Good,” she said, “then lie down.” I lay down and Lucy came and lay down next to me. She held out her hand. “To never knowing what's going to happen next!” she said. “Clink.”

“Here, here.”

“To Shelby Lewis' brush with reality.… Clink.” We were really laughing. Lucy put her hand on mine. My heart started beating out like an African rhythm section. My mouth went dry.

“Dave Brubeck,” I said nervously, “who would've thought?”

“Who would've thought?”

“You're right Lucy, if I want to contribute, that's up to me.”

“Close your eyes,” she said, “and imagine making love. Imagine it's the only place you were ever destined to be.”

“Okay.”

“Imagine it's destiny.”

I closed my eyes and we lay there without speaking. After hours of talking, words suddenly lost their significance. I'd never experienced that before.

V

I went to the Garden of Love

And saw what I never had seen

—
William Blake

Much to my surprise, after I finally received a psychic reading (a short-lived affair dealing only with the cleaning of my chakras and for which I was not billed and during which Lucy continually complained she was losing the knack), we still continued with our daily visits. It took an evening of wine in excess for me to finally sleep over, and that meant on the front room floor where I awoke fully clothed. There was a blanket on the couch. I didn't recall falling off. The calico cat was on the windowledge. Numbness in my right leg forced a slow ascent. I checked my watch: ten after five. There was a note on the coffee table. I read it while rubbing my thigh.

Morning. I went for a walk. Help

yourself to anything in the fridge
.

Lock up when you leave. Thanks
,

Lucy

Lock up when you leave? Was I supposed to go? She made it sound like I was the plumber—and what was she doing going for a walk in a downpour at five o'clock in the morning? Why hadn't she woken me up? I lay down on the couch and waited for her return. My eyelids started to get heavy …

“Hey!”

I shot up. Lucy was standing by the front room door, drenched and smiling.

“You moved off the floor,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Listen, it's six-thirty and I'm tired so I'm going back to bed for a few hours. You can stay there if you want or you can join me.”

“Thank you.”

“I'm just going to towel off a little. It's pouring out there.”

“Okay.” Lucy left the room. I lay back on the couch and listened for her to finish in the bathroom. Nervous as it made me, I decided to join her and got an erection. I heard her walk out of the bathroom. Then I went to the bathroom and took care of general hygiene; brushing my teeth with my finger and a dab of Colgate, wetting down my hair and so on.

I walked to the bedroom and opened the door. It was dark inside and when I closed the door behind me I couldn't see anything.

“It's me … Shelby,” I said.

“That's what I figured,” she said. “You joining me?”

“If that's all right. As a rule I wouldn't bother you but that couch is as stiff as—” CLUNK. “Ow!”

“Are you okay?”

“I stubbed my toe on the—” CLANG. “Aah!”

“What are you doing?”

I fell on top of the covers, grimacing in pain. “I think I've fractured my shin,” I moaned. Her hand touched my arm. The pain lessened. I lay there without moving, nervous, trying to inhale.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” Lucy reached out and pulled me into a cuddle.

“Destiny sure is giving your leg a tough time, eh?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to relax my arms enough to wrap them around her.

“You don't have to keep all your clothes on,” she said.

“Oh, yes … uh … okay.”

“But you can if you want to.”

“No … I think I'd be more comfortable with some of them off.” I undressed with minimal movement, aware only of darkness and my erection. I put my right arm awkwardly around Lucy. She gave me a hug. My left arm was crushed and hurting but I didn't say anything. I modified my position and let out a strange sounding, high-pitched grunt.

“You all right?” she asked.

“Me? Yes. Fine. You?”

“Yeah, I'm good. You wearing boxers?” she asked.

“Sorry?”

“Are you wearing boxer shorts?”

“Me? Yes.” I said. “You?” It was a dumb question.

“Am I wearing boxers?”

“I mean, do you ever … Have you ever worn boxer shorts?”

“Um, yeah, I guess I have. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” I said. There was a pause. “Should I take them off?”

“Do you want to?”

“What do you think?”

“It's up to you,” she said, “they're your shorts.”

“Yeah, I guess … yeah. I'll just see how I feel.” I fell out of the hug, bent down to pull them off and accidentally kneed Lucy in the thigh.

“Oops, sorry, I, uh … my leg got … I … sorry.”

“Vee have vays of dealing vis people like you,” she said in the worst German accent ever. My armpits started sweating. With her hand Lucy caressed my nipple. It was soon erect. She kissed me lightly.

“Are you sure you're okay?” she asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” She put my hand softly on her hip. I could feel her warmth. After a few minutes I slowly tried to lift my leg over her.

“Hang on, tiger,” she said.

“Oops, sorry, I … I was …” I was embarrassed. I pulled my leg off. “I didn't mean anything by that,” I said. Lucy rolled over, turned on the bedside light and opened the top drawer of her night table. I froze imagining the headlines: GODDESS SHOOTS IDIOT. She turned back with a condom in her hand.

“You okay?” she asked again.

I nodded. “I thought you were grabbing a gun.”

Lucy smiled. “You want me to grab a gun, cowboy?”

“Uh …”

“Lie down and close your eyes.” I did, and felt the covers come off me. Lucy stroked the base of my testicles and I felt a rise inside that suddenly stopped. There was a crinkling of the condom wrapper. My heart started to throb, as did the rest of me. I couldn't catch my breath. From behind my eyes I saw flashes of light. I could feel the condom on my helmet. My buttocks flexed and my head flew back-

“Uunnhh.”

“Aaah!” she shrieked.

“Ooh.”

Then laughter.

From Lucy.

Gasping, I reached down and pulled a blanket up and over my face. Then I felt myself: soft, gooey, the condom loose and saggy.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Could you turn the light off, please.”

“It's okay, Shel, just … just go clean up.”

“No,” I said, “I'm fine, thanks.”

“Come on, Shel. It's okay,” she said. I remained still, numb with humiliation. “Shel?”

“If you don't mind,” I said, “I'd appreciate it if you'd turn that light off, bury your face in the pillow and let me leave without looking at me.”

Lucy laughed. “Come on, pull down the blanket,” she said, “it doesn't matter.”

“I'm going to leave now,” I said. “So if you wouldn't mind turning out that light I'll be out of your way.” The light clicked, and beneath the blanket the red in my eyes turned to black.

“
Shel
, come on. It's okay.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. Lucy put her hand on my back just as I lifted my ugly body out of bed. I put one hand on the saggy condom that was loose and floppy. “I'm sorry,” I said again, “I'm having a spiritual breakdown of sorts.”

“It's okay,” she said. “Really.” I tried to gather my belongings but couldn't find them in the dark. I stubbed my toe twice, actually pealing off a little skin. Lucy tried to talk me into staying.

“I think it's best if I leave,” I said. “If you wouldn't mind, could you, with your eyes closed, turn on the bedside light so I can gather my belongings and then be out of your way.” The light went on. “Thank you.”

Lucy sat up.

“Aaaah! Close your eyes! This is a moment of grand embarrassment!”

She closed her eyes and fell back on the bed, laughing. “Come on, Shel. You're so overdramatic. You're like Shakespeare in a B-Movie.”

“First the unmentionable, and now you're reviewing me.”

I went to the bathroom, flushed the condom that stole my virginity, dressed myself, and avoided eye contact with the mirror. I knew what I looked like. Then, from outside Lucy's bedroom door, I apologised again. Her reply, although one of understanding, was muffled with laughter, a fact I found insensitive.

My arrival home was greeted by two people sleeping in my bed. I felt angry and violated. Though tempted, and assuming they were two of Eric's ruffian friends, I considered waking them at knife point—just to let them know Shelby Lewis' pull-out couch would not been taken for granted. Instead, I made a cup of tea and sulked, knowing my first two sexual encounters had been rejection by a fat woman and premature ejaculation into a half-on condom. Then I thought about my financial situation and wondered how close I was to standing on a street corner in a yellow chicken suit doing promotions for a fast food restaurant.

Awhile later Eric sauntered into the kitchen in his underwear. When I looked up he laughed as though a film clip of the morning's condom debacle was playing on my forehead; and before I could comment on his offering my pull-out couch to riff-raff, he was introducing me to his friends, who turned out to be his Uncle Mannfred and his Aunt Carol. They had taken Eric out for a birthday dinner the night before, overindulged, and decided not to drive home. They were friendly. They lived in Surrey. They owned a sausage factory there. It was Carol's father's until he had a heart attack getting out of the bath one morning. Carol's Mom heard a crash and ran upstairs to find him beached and dripping and dead on the cold tile floor.

“Three hundred and fifty pounds,” Carol said teary eyed, still lying in my bed. “We tried to get him to lose weight. We tried but he wouldn't listen. Bacon sandwiches for breakfast, ham and sausages for lunch, steak and eggs for dinner …”

In his will, Carol's Dad left Carol a sausage factory and a small collection of antique golf carts. She donated the carts to different country clubs across North America.

“… including Pebble Beach and Augusta.”

She kept the factory. Eric mentioned I'd been searching for employment. They offered me a job. I took it. Eric suggested I call them aunt and uncle, too. They agreed.

VI

Misfortune comes from having a body
.

—
Lao Tsu

It became clear that destiny is for those who are, for better or worse, great. All others are at the mercy of fate. Fate is about everyday little things; spotting a celebrity in a supermarket, getting the car towed, being struck by diarrhoea in an elevator, premature ejaculation. It wasn't having fallen from destiny to fate that scared me. What scared me was not knowing if I'd stopped falling.

After repeated calls I got hold of Lucy the following morning. She never made mention of the day before. I thought that showed a lot of class on her part. We made another plan for a more elaborate psychic reading. She seemed distant on the phone.

“You okay?” I asked. There was no answer. “Lucy?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Hey, Shel, do you know how many witches were burned at the stake between 1300 and 1700?”