Trying the Knot (19 page)

Generally, he ran all over town fetching the
unhealthiest garbage imaginable for her to cram down her throat in
an eating frenzy. Sometimes she puked it all up, but more often
than not she passed out after gorging herself.

This depressed state progressed until she
bloated up like a mini-Elizabeth Taylor during her less-than-svelte
years. Not long afterward, Vange would drive deep into the
countryside to an area of wetlands she affectionately named the
Swamp of Sadness. Sitting catatonic like a zombie in her truck she
would take stock of her life along with its accompanying
disappointments. From the Swamp, she gathered the strength to
reclaim inner serenity. She returned to her apartment and took her
first bath in months, squeeze into a jogging suit and excessively
worked out to VHS tapes. She only jogged at the crack of dawn in
order to keep her excess poundage from the eyes of the small town
that threatened to engulf her. Her diet consisted of smoothies and
oatmeal and grapefruit, or other weird combos, and she fanatically
stuck to this bizarre regimen until becoming a mere shadow of her
former bloated self.

Then one day she would decide it was time to
pack up and move, and Ben always had a hand in picking out whatever
house she rented. After all, he was always the one who moved her.
Once settled into her new place, she phoned Ginny and asked to be
put back on the schedule. As if in a cyclical pursuit of eternal
redemption, she diligently resumed attending church services and
took up various volunteer opportunities until those unexpected
pangs of mania once again disrupted the natural rhythms of her
life.

Evangelica usually explained her absences
away by saying she met a rich foreigner, and he flew her out of the
country for a while. She varied the lie and told everyone her lover
was from New York City or Hollywood. Occasionally, this actually
did happen, and so she kept stashes of pictures for proof of her
travels because The Lounge wenches never took her word at face
value. If appropriate, she acquired a fake bake tan, and she always
made sure to flaunt a cheap old thrift store antique such as her
authentic Grecian urn. Although her coworkers never knew for sure,
they oohed and ahhed politely to her face, afraid of whatever
violence she was capable of spewing if they questioned her

After her lounge act, Evangelica and Ben lay
across her brass bed, sipping lukewarm tea with honey while smoking
a joint and listening to the old records that once belonged to her
dead father. Compliments of her plant, Vange had an endless supply
of weed, whereas Ben managed to get by on what Ginny periodically
gifted him, and most of the time, he passed along the illegal stash
to Vange.

Evangelica painted Ben’s finger nails
blue-black while singing along with Sarah Vaughn. Her bedroom walls
were dripping with liquid Tide that gleamed menacingly under black
lights. The Satanic hue freaked out Ben, who did not really enjoy
spending time in the glowing morgue she periodically did not leave
for months. Ben preferred to relax in her living room overgrown
with every houseplant known to man, including her infamous Hemp
plant named Marley. Dressed in their underwear, they made up
fantastical Soap Opera epics among the venerable jungle with Star
Wars action figures.

“Since you never asked, I spent Easter
weekend with Thad,” Evangelica said. She was still basking in the
afterglow of her successful performance and his generous gift of
multiple orgasms.

“I saw him downtown the other day. He was
trying to get a job with the newspaper,” Ben said as he blew on his
fingernails. “I don’t know about that guy.”

“Why?”

“Nick thinks Thad might be a little gay,” Ben
said, and he tested to see if the nail polish was dry.

“Whatever, that’s old news,” Evangelica said.
“Maybe he’s a little bit bi-curious.”

“I’m just saying, Nick swears Thad made a
pass at him once when they were drunk.”

“What’s the big deal? I’ve made plenty of
drunken passes at Nick. Don’t you remember when all the boys wanted
to be Nick, and all the girls wanted to swing from his dick?” Vange
asked, feigning nostalgia. “Oh those were the days.”

“But Thad’s not a girl, so if he wanted to be
Nick’s bitch, that’d make him a little gay.”

She handed him the nail polish and wiggled
her toes. “Hey, maybe with those beer goggles on, Thad thought Nick
was pretty handsome. Don’t you think Nick’s cute?”

“Not enough to turn me queer,” Ben insisted
as he began to paint her toenails.

“Well, FYI—he boinked me just fine.”

“You slept with him?” Ben asked, trying not
to sound overly interested.

“Are you shocked? He was depressed, and it
was Easter, so it was the least I could do. It cheered him up. I
took this necklace from him. It’s a gift from his ex-girlfriend,
it’s the key to his sadness.” Vange removed the silver blue
rhinoceros necklace and handed it to Ben. “Take it.”

“Um, no thanks.

“Thad wouldn’t want Nick anyway. He’s not
exactly well-endowed.”

“What about me?” Ben asked, taking the
necklace.

“You have nothing to worry about, Long Dong,”
Evangelica lied. “It’s the magic that counts, not the size of the
wand.”

Ben inspected her freshly coated toenails and
put on the necklace. “A weird little Hippo, how does it look?”

“It’s a rhino, and it’s beautiful. Keep it,
Long Dong,” Vange said, and she laughed because she could not stop
saying the word dong. “Some words are so strange. What are other
weird words? Garrulous is one.”

“Meal is pretty freaky, and supper.”

“Yuck to all those dinner words.”

“So, maybe we’ll hang out with Thad now that
he’s back in town, even if he is a depressed flamer and shit,” Ben
said. “We should tempt him with a threesome to find out if he’s
really gay.”

“Sure thing, queer bait,” she teased.
Abruptly, she suddenly bolted upright and smeared black polish
across the hardwood floor. She faced him and said severely, “I need
you to take me to get an abortion. I keep putting it off.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t think I can go alone.”

“You’re pregnant?”

“No, dork, I thought I’d get one for the hell
of it while they’re still legal,” she said, and she smacked his
bare back with her open palm.

Attempting to rub his stinging flesh, he
asked, “Have you considered keeping it at all?”

She did a double take and burst with
laughter. “Are you serious? Right, me and my bastard child Pearl
would lead a fine life of persecution at the hands of our
Puritanical neighbors.”

“Pearl? That’s kind of an ugly name.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“Lots of women raise kids alone in this town,
more so than not, I bet.”

“A lot of women aren’t me, and in case you
haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly Murphy Brown. I can’t afford the
hassle— it’s tacky when you’re poor,” she said.

“But—

“Listen, Benji-dawg, I’d make a horrible
mommy dearest. Help me or not?”

Ben nodded as if the alternative never
crossed his mind. “No doubt about it, whatever you chose is fine by
me.” Full of ambivalence, she flashed him a sardonic glance of
appreciation and continued to sing along with the music.

Evangelica did not like owing people favors,
and so on the day of the abortion she showed up on his doorstep
with a huge black velvet portrait of fat Elvis along with an
overnight bag. Elvis and the bag tipped off Ben the procedure might
get psychologically complicated. The round trip to Saginaw took
several hours. Once at the clinic, Vange discovered she was too far
along to be eligible for an abortion. Then they sent her back to
her regular physician, where she obtained blood tests and an
ultra-sound, which ultimately worried Dr. Paull. Something was not
right.

Ben accompanied Evangelica back to Saginaw,
but this time to a hospital where she was told her fetus suffered
from a rare chromosomal disorder. Chances were the baby would never
grow to term, and if it did, it would not live more than a few
hours.

“Your baby appears to be missing vital organs
in order to sustain life outside the womb,” the OB/GYN informed
her.

“I want it out of me,” Vange said
blankly.

“That’s not exactly an option,” the doctor
informed her. “You’re too far along to have a legal abortion.”

“So, if I’m hearing you correctly, I’m being
forced to deliver a baby in order to watch it die?” Vange asked
incredulously.

“The alternative is euthanasia,” the
specialist said. “Not an option.”

“The alternative would be humane,” Vange said
horrified as it sunk in what she was being coerced to do. “It’s
bullshit.”

“It’s the law.”

“Maybe I’ll try horseback riding or arrange a
flight down a set of stairs.”

“Are you threatening to harm yourself in some
fashion?” the doctor asked. “I can arrange for psychological
counseling.”

Vange spent the next several months in shock,
waiting to deliver her deformed baby. She was not sure when the
growing zygote inside of her went from fetus to baby, and she swore
Ben to secrecy. He was to tell no one. She wore baggy clothes and
pretended nothing was wrong, but her capacity for self-denial was
only so strong. Eventually, she felt the fetus move as it grew
within her. By the time she had grown used to the idea of being
pregnant, she had grown attached. Vange became hopeful for a
misdiagnosis, and when she felt the baby kick she began to think
the doctors had made a mistake. Everything would be fine. How
shocked and overjoyed everyone would be when she delivered a
healthy baby girl, especially when no one even knew she was
pregnant. She began to worry about not having a crib, car seat, or
any baby things whatsoever. Secretly, she began to buy clothes and
such baby accoutrements as bibs, bottles and blankets. She did not
dare share the news or items with anyone.

Then late one evening, after a dinner shift
at the lounge, she felt herself seized by an overpowering pain
ripping at her insides. Ben rushed in the bathroom when he heard
her blood curdling screams. He found her standing over the sink,
gasping for breath as blood streamed down her leg.

It took nearly all day to convince her that a
trip to the hospital was necessary to successfully eject the
malformed fetus. But before relenting, Evangelica had decided she
would stay at the Dooley household because she did not want to
deliver her baby at the hospital only to be told it would not live.
On Ben’s waterbed, she rolled around emitting agonized screams
until her voice gave out. When Ben became so frightened he began to
hyperventilate, he dialed 911 and the EMTs insisted Vange accompany
them to the hospital. The doctor reassured her she was experiencing
premature childbirth or a miscarriage, and when the contractions
started the ordeal would be no more painful than an intense
period.

“But, it’s not time,” she insisted. “I’m only
6 months along.”

“Evangelica, did you read the medical
literature I gave you? This baby is not going to make it,” Dr.
Paull said point blankly.

Later in the day, Ben left the hospital and
went to Evangelica’s apartment, but he swore he could hear her
shrill screams from across town. When she hollered at him over the
phone that her possessed fetus was hell-bent on hauling its
murderous mother to limbo, Ben sped back to the hospital room where
she had regained a semblance of composure in front of the TV. But
once she learned Pa Ingalls had inoperable cancer, she fell to
pieces.

“He’s like my father, my Pa,” she said
through tears.

“Michael Landon?” Ben asked. This was a new
one. He’d never heard this before. “When did this happen, on a
Highway to Heaven?”

“No, not that Michael Landon— Pa, who built
the little house on the prairie next to the big woods during the
long winter,” she said, sniffling.

“Little Joe. They’re all one and the
same.”

“Oh, shut up! You insensitive fucking prick!
Shut up shut up shut up!” she screamed, rocking and tearing at the
hair above her temples. “All I ever wanted was a dad to call me
half-pint.” She grabbed a handful of People Magazines and began
wailing him. As he cowered from the blows, she tore up the hospital
room. Once she was under control, Dr. Paull insinuated she was
psychologically unhinged, and he threatened to put her in
restraints if she did not behave in a sane fashion.

Ben wearily remained at her bedside and let
her beat on him until he was unable to withstand it. Eventually, he
disappeared to her apartment and waited for Dr. Paull to summon him
back to the hospital. In the meantime, she reported to the police
he was missing, and she stupidly suggested they check her
address.

The police surrounded the building and forced
him out of the building at gunpoint. Clad in only his underwear,
Ben explained the situation to Deputy Czerwinski, who insisted he
search the premises. Invariably, they confiscated her beloved
marijuana plant Marley, and they wanted to arrest Evangelica for
possession and filing a false report. When the deputy insisted he
would have to drive her to the county jail so he could ask her a
few questions, Vange yelled the slammer was no place to deliver a
dead baby. She fled the bed but crawled underneath it. Deputy
Czerwinski acquiesced and decided to issue a stern warning when she
refused to rise from her position on the floor. With one arm
clutching Ben’s ankle and the other gripping the bed, she beat her
head against the floor and insisted she deserved to die.

“Is this any way for a respectable normal
person to act?” Czerwinski asked her.

“Who here is respectable or normal, buster?”
she yelled.

“You— you’re a child of God, someone’s
daughter, and this is no way to act,” Czerwinski counseled, and
seconds later he dodged the can of Vernors hurled at his head.