Lemon (19 page)

Speaking of consumer goods, Nicole's house is full them. Doyle and Rossi lose me asap. I go for a whiz, spend some time examining the bidet, making the water squirt. Maybe it feels good having water squirt up inside you, maybe Nicole and her ma get off on it. I consider trying it but somebody's pounding at the door. I go look for food, eat some pizza and tacos. Nobody notices me, which is good. I lean against the wall and watch the ritual. Girls run their fingers through their hair, boys ogle. Girls gossip and slander and say
like
every second word. Boys talk tough, say
like
every second word and
fucking
every three seconds. Beside me some wizards are talking about sports, how some fucking team is losing all its fucking players. ‘It's a fucking tragedy,' the shaggy-haired one says. Another genius can't decide whether or not to buy the new Nintendo, ‘Like, what if the fucking thing goes on sale? Last game I bought, the fuckers put it on sale like, the day after. Fucking rip-off.'

One of the artsy-crowd queers is saying, ‘Let's go get matching sweaters,' in a squeaky voice to anyone who'll listen. He's one of those types who survives by acting brain-damaged. He only gets invited because he provides freak- show entertainment.

I eat more tacos, wishing I'd brought a book. The music's slamming my brain around, making me think about George Eliot putting leeches on her head to get rid of headaches. It's hard to imagine old Marian, her real name, reaching into a jar and grabbing the bloodsuckers then plastering them on her forehead. Meanwhile she was writing about all those beautiful pining heroines. Old Marian hooked up with a couple of serious dweezles in her own love search. You have to wonder if it was because her mother liked her pretty sister better, and of course her brother who was numero uno and could do no wrong. Not only was Marian ugly but she didn't go to church. When her mother died Marian felt so guilty she started going to church with her father and wiping his snot till he kicked off. Then there was nobody to love her, which is why she went after putzes. Finally she found a guy who was as ugly as she was but he was already married. He told her she was brilliant and hid the crappy reviews from her. He decided he couldn't live without her so he left the wife and kiddies and shacked up with Marian. A lot of people weren't too happy about this, especially the gentry types who'd freaked when they found out George Eliot was a woman. If she'd been a nice little church-going Victorian lady, they might have been able to handle it but there was old Marian, living in sin and refusing to go to fancy dress balls.

‘Have you seen Rossi?' Doyle asks.

‘I thought she was with you.'

‘So did I.' He frowns into the crowd. ‘They're all looking at her on Jake's cell. Maybe she took off.'

‘Are you worried about her?'

‘Shit, no, I hardly know her.'

‘Did you bump uglies yet?'

‘What?'

‘Isn't that why you brought her? To get into her thong?'

‘You are so bitter.' He grabs some Cheezees and merges with the dancers.

Queen Kirsten and King Jake start swapping spit on the couch and everybody else partners up. I look for Rossi, squeeze past overheated bodies, beer cans and cigarettes, spot Larry Bone and his junkies huddled over a coffee table snorting powder. Taylor in the dog collar grabs my ass but I keep moving. I see girls pushed up against the walls and I try to figure out if they're enjoying it. They probably don't know, have been faking it so long they're not even inside their bodies. Maybe it's like that for the boys as well. They're scared shitless they won't be able to get it up so they rush the process just so they can announce they fucked somebody. I push open sliding doors and step onto the deck. Butt-scratch-ers crowd around the gazebo, whooping and hollering. I sprawl on a lawn chair and look for stars. It's always a challenge in the city, but sometimes I can spot the Dippers. On camping trips Drew used to show me constellations but I've forgotten most of them. She pointed out the North Star at the end of the Little Dipper's handle and said it led slaves to freedom. When I asked her what happened on cloudy nights, she said some of them were given compasses by abolitionists. Alexander Ross posed as a birdwatcher so he could hang around plantations and guide slaves north. It's nice to know there were whiteys risking their lives to help slaves. Levi Coffin got them into boats so they could cross Lake Erie. I think about this when I get really depressed about white people. But then, of course, escaped slaves weren't exactly welcomed in Canada. If they got work at all, they were paid shit wages and their kids weren't allowed in white schools. Yep, nobody was too excited about all those darkies comin' to town.

Somebody starts shrieking down around the gazebo. It's customary for ditzes to screech at parties so I don't sweat it. I smell weed and notice a few saggy asses passing around a blunt. Some wizard says, ‘Harsh toke, dude.' I think about old Clarissa writing letters in prison. Lovelace tries to visit her but his former pal, Jack, scares him off with his sword. He tells Lovelace if he tries to approach Clarissa again, he'll skewer him. I figure Clarissa and Jack will get hitched, although she's stopped eating, which could present a problem. She's still begging for her father's forgiveness.

I stare at the sliver of a moon and try to believe that Kadylak's off the ventilator, sitting up in bed sucking on a freezie, that Mr. Paluska is massaging her feet.

The screaming gets a little scarier. I'm thinking maybe I should call 911. Best not to get involved. I grab more pretzels, suck the salt off them. The stink of pot is making me queasy and the music's getting louder. Soon the neighbours will call the cops who won't show up. The screaming stops and after a while the crowd leaves the gazebo so I figure I'll go chill in there, it's screened, which means no bugs. It's pretty dark but I sit on one of those built-in benches and return to my Kady-lak fantasy. I watch Mr. Paluska's muscles again, imagine touching them, feeling them around me. My eyes adjust to the dark and I notice a heap of something in the corner. I figure it's a pile of canvas or something but then it starts to move and I jump about six feet thinking it's hiding a giant rat that's about to claw me to death. It stops moving and I decide the second-hand weed smoke is making me hallucinate. After a couple of minutes of serious staring, I realize it's a body. I get ready to bounce out of there but then the body starts making wounded noises. ‘Are you alright?' I ask it. It doesn't answer so I move a little closer. It's a woman and she's naked. ‘What happened?' I ask. She's in a fetal position with her hands over her head. I recognize her perfume.

‘Don't let anybody in,' Rossi whimpers.

‘What happened?'

‘They took my clothes.'

‘Who did?'

‘Don't leave me, okay?'

‘I should get help.'

‘Don't get help. I'll
kill
you if you get help!'

‘What did they do to you?'

‘Just help me find my clothes.'

‘I can't see anything. Let me get a flashlight.'

‘No!' she shrieks like I just burned her. She starts crawling around, sniffling, searching for her clothes.

‘Did they rape you?'

‘Shut up,' she says.

‘Was it Jake and the football boys?'

‘Nobody raped me, alright, forget it, just help me get my clothes.'

‘They're not in here, Ross. They took them. They want you walking around naked. It's a big joke.' She gropes like the blind.

‘Where's your cell?' I ask. ‘We should call 911.'

‘Are you kidding? No way are we calling anybody. Shut up about this, alright, just help me find my clothes.'

‘They're not here, Ross.'

She starts to sob, brutal, choking sobs like when she was six and her bike got stolen.

‘We'll call your mum,' I say, ‘and she'll bring you some clothes.'

‘Don't call my mum!' she snaps. ‘Anyway, they took my cell.'

‘So what are we supposed to do?'

‘Find my clothes.'

The deck lights flash and the crowd starts whistling and stamping their feet. King Jake shouts, ‘Let's get this show on the road!' They're all there, Kirsten, Nicole, the wannabes. Larry Bone. Rossi crouches under a bench and it dawns on me that we're about to die horrible deaths, that they'll burn our faces with cigarettes, kick the shit out of us then douse our bodies in lighter fluid and set us on fire.

‘The dyke's in there with her,' Bonehead announces.

‘Fucking lesbos,' Taylor in the dog collar concludes. ‘What they need is a corrective experience.'

I have no problem with death if it's over fast, if I go where Kadylak's going.

‘Yo, ho, show us your tits!' Slade the blow-job freak shouts.

‘We want pink shots!' they all chant.

‘Yo, bitch, show us your gash!' Bonehead bellows.

Rossi's shaking and sobbing and I know she's destroyed, that she'll never be the same, that her days will be filled with fear and shame. I look around for a weapon, grab a seat cushion and push open the screen door. They all hoot and holler. ‘Where are her clothes?' I demand.

Jake acts surprised. ‘She's got clothes?'

‘The skank's got clothes?' Slade echoes.

‘Where are her clothes?' I repeat.

Kirsten, doubtless the mastermind behind all this, smirks and twirls her hair.

‘What's the slut need clothes for?' Jake says. ‘She looks better without 'em. Anyway, there might be some good men here who haven't fucked her yet. Although that's hard to imagine.'

All the hatred, the rage, starts sizzling inside me, burning my arms, my legs, my face. I climb down the steps, seat cushion in hand, wanting to terminate this asshole, spit bile into his eyes. ‘Where are her clothes?' I shout. He keeps acting ignorant and his followers do the same. They should be thrown in toxic pits, smothered in landfill. ‘You are
sick
!' I scream.

‘I'll tell you what's sick,' Queen Kirsten shrieks, ‘is some bitch saying she's writing a play and getting everybody to fake-fuck in her basement.
That's
sick. That's fucking mental. You're a fucking sick mental case!'

‘A virgin too,' Jake surmises. ‘Nobody'd fuck anything that ugly. Five bucks to the first guy who fucks her.'

Bonehead starts coming at me with druggy eyes. I throw the seat cushion at him, which gets a laugh. Somebody grabs me from behind and I'm slammed into the ground and they're yanking at my clothes, unzipping my pants and chanting, ‘Fuck the dyke up the ass,' and all I know is I'd rather be dead then ripped open by these goons. I start kicking and jabbing and biting and smacking my head into their stinking flesh. ‘Kill me, you fucks!' I'm shouting. ‘Kill me, you fucking losers!' I taste blood and figure my nose is bleeding. What's weird is I'm not even scared really, I
should
be scared but it's a fight I've been waiting for. I've been wanting to hurt these degenerates for so long. Some of them back off, stunned. ‘She's a fucking animal,' they gasp, grabbing at my legs, but I'm super-energized and they're canned. Bonehead's got his hands under my shirt, twisting my breasts. I slam my forehead into his nose and he yowls. Taylor in the dog collar grips me in a headlock, choking me. Slade rips my underpants and I can feel night air against my snatch.

‘Whaddayaknow, the dyke's got a slit,' Slade announces. I try to kick the side of his head but two other football players grab my thighs and split me open. Goons grab my ankles and yank off my pants while Taylor breathes barbecue chips and beer on me. Slade starts shoving a beer bottle into me and I can't kick, can't move for fear of breaking the glass. Taylor is licking my face. I hear Kirsten say, ‘There's no business like show business.' Bonehead pulls out his dick and tries to push it in my mouth. I clench my teeth but the stink of him is making me sick. I start choking on vomit because there's no way I'm opening my mouth. Then somebody else is yelling and swinging a golf club around. The halfwits cover their heads. ‘Leave her alone!' the guy shouts and I realize it's Doyle, all six feet four inches of him. He looks scared out of his mind, like he can't believe he's swinging a golf club around. He's taken off his T-shirt and tucked it into his jeans. He throws it at me. ‘Get Rossi,' he says. I roll over and puke on their Nikes before grabbing my pants. I scramble into the gazebo. Rossi's still under the bench sobbing. ‘Ross? We've got to get out of here.' I shove my legs into my pants then pull her out, pushing her head through the T-shirt like she's a little girl. ‘It's going to be okay,' I tell her. ‘We're getting out of here.' I fit her hands through the armholes. She's mute, in shock or something. The T-shirt, being Doyle's, is long and covers her ass. Printed on it is
I hope you like animals because I'm a beast.
I grip Rossi's hand and lead her outside.

‘Take it easy, man,' King Jake says to Doyle who's still whipping the club around. ‘We were just foolin' around.'

‘Yeah, we were just jokin',' his subordinates insist, crowding around us.

‘Back off!' I scream.

Doyle pushes through them and puts his free arm over Rossi's shoulders. Holding her between us, we walk around the house to the street. They don't follow. They're defeated, for now.

20

‘W
e should go to the police,' I say, shaking even though I'm not cold. Rossi's in the back with me, trying to blend in with the upholstery. ‘If you ever want to press charges,' I say, ‘you have to go to the police now.' She doesn't respond so I nudge her. ‘Ross?'

‘I'm not pressing charges.'

‘You might change your mind later, and you'll need evidence.'

‘I'm not pressing charges, alright.'