Chapter 4

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            The next day Anne and I argued again.  It started with Huey Newton and the Black Panthers.  They had accompanied Betty X, the widow of Malcolm X, to the San Francisco Courthouse, with loaded weapons.  I called them small time criminals and thugs.  She said they were Revolutionaries.   I said they had a right to carry loaded weapons and pulled out my loaded .22 Beretta.  She said, if I didn’t put it back in my pocket she would scream.  I shrugged my shoulders and told her I possessed a small arsenal that I had inherited from my father.  She said I was infatuated with the odor of my emotional armpits.  I put my Beretta back in my pocket and took out a baggie of marijuana.  She said she didn’t like marijuana.   I said it helps you to get outside yourself.   She said that the Rolling Stones had just been busted in London for marijuana possession.  I said the Beatles were smoking marijuana in India and meditating with the Maharishi Yogi.  She said the Maharishi Yogi was a fatuous, trendy, transcendental Pharisee and that I was a pompous pain-in-the-ass.  I picked up a vase, examined it to make sure it was worthless, threw it against the poster of the levitating Swami and walked out.

When I got back to my apartment, I called Marlo to ask if she wanted to go to baseball practice again.  She said no and hung up.  Just as the receiver touched its cradle, the phone rang.  It was Lyle.  He asked me if I wanted to go with him to a Sexual Freedom League meeting in Berkeley.  I said I had never heard of the Sexual Freedom League.  He said the members met downstairs in a large house and when anyone felt like fucking they just went just upstairs to the second floor, which was covered with mattresses, and fucked.   I told him that I would never do anything like that and he called me a Puritanical asshole and hung up. 

 

            I spent the month of February smoking marijuana, reading, meditating and working on my knuckleball.

            One night, just after I had returned from baseball practice and had opened a bottle of Budweiser, the phone rang.

            The voice said,  “Jeez, man.  Where have you been?  I’ve been trying to get you all day.”

            “I was at baseball practice man.  The team has been practicing for more than a month.”

            “I need your help, man.”

            “Again?”

            “You’ll like this one.”

            Silence.

            “She’s beautiful and she’s 18.”

            Silence.

            “Brad, I need a favor.  You’re my best friend.”

            I didn’t say anything.

            “Will you let me explain?” 

            I said,  “Explain.”

            “Her pimp burned her clothes.”

            “Her pimp?”

            No answer.

            I said,  “Burned her clothes?”

            “He kicked her out and burned her clothes.”

            “Why did he burn her clothes?  …. Wait a minute.  What does this have to do with me anyway?”

            “Think about it, Brad.” 

            “Think about what?”

            “What can a whore do without clothes?”

            “You tell me.”  I grinned.  “What can a whore do without clothes?”

            He said, in a matter of fact tone,  “Not a goddammed thing.  And he will beat the hell out of her if he finds her.  She needs a place to stay.”

            I remembered the day I had moved into his neighborhood.  I was five years old and I had to get a chair to stand on so I could see out of the little barred window in the front door.  He was standing there looking up at me, asking me if I could come out and play.

            I said,  “You want me to share my apartment with a whore?”

            “It’s not like that Brad.  I swear to God.”

            “The next thing you’re going to tell me is she need’s a pimp.”

            There was a silence and then the sound of his dry, high-pitched laughter.

            “Brad.  Have I ever lied to you?”

            “Yes.  Look.  I don’t exactly feel good about the last one.”

            “You got a piece of ass, didn’t you?  What are you complaining about?”

            I yelled into the phone, “I don’t look forward to a thirteen year old having my baby.”

            “She’s almost fourteen.”

            “Are you crazy?”

            “Are you going to calm down?”

            “Thirteen-year-old or fourteen-year-old wife!  What difference does it make?”

            “Wife?  What the fuck are you talking about?   She don’t want no husband.  She wants a baby.”

            I didn’t say anything.

            “If you help me out just this one last time, I’ll really owe you one.  I’ll pay you back.  I swear to God.  I can’t let this one get away.”

            I couldn’t think of anything to say.

            He continued.  “Look.  She don’t know nothing.  She’s naive.”

            I was silent.

            He asked,  “Are you there?”

            “Of course I’m there.”

            “She’s so naive she’s embarrassed to talk about sex.”

            “She’s embarrassed to talk about sex and she’s a whore?”

            “I thought you two would be just right for each other.”  He laughed.

            “I was silent.

            “You’re 22 years old Brad and you don’t know anything about women.  You don’t know what you’re missing.  You’ve only had three girlfriends.”

            “I’ve had more than three girlfriends.”

            “That have given you any pussy.”

            “I’ve had five of those kinds of  ‘girlfriends.’ ”

            He repeated,  “Five girlfriends!”  He held the phone away from his mouth and laughed his high-pitched, dry laugh.  It turned into a wheezing cough and he said, “Goddammit.  Now you’ve got my asthma going.  Look man, are you going to say ‘yes’ or turn down the prettiest whore in Hayward?”

            “Tell me something about her, “ I said, stalling for time.

            “She ran away from her father the day she turned sixteen.  He’s a preacher.  She’s tall and blonde and looks like a movie star.  You’ll cream your pants when you see her.”

            I was silent.

            He continued.  “I can’t bring her home.  Luisa would never believe me.  Candace acts innocent and all, but Luisa would kill me.”  He added, as an afterthought, to himself,  “Luisa don’t believe anything, even it it’s the truth.”  His voice became urgent again.  ”You’ve got to do this favor for me Brad.  Just this one, last time.  I’m begging you.”

            Suddenly, inexplicably, I was curious.  “Well, if it’s such a big deal, she can stay with me for a few days.  She can sleep on the couch.”

            “On the couch?”

            “I mean I can sleep on the couch.  She can sleep in my bed.”

            I heard the wheezing sound again, the sound of an aspirator spraying mist and then his voice again, strong into the telephone.  “Sleep on the couch?!  I told you, she will give you free sex, man.  Are you a man or a queer!!”  He was silent for a moment and when he spoke his tone was almost pensive,   “Shit.  It must be that bitch you’re with.  What’s her name?  Annee?”

            “Look.  Just bring her over and.…"

            “She said already man, she won’t charge nothing.”

            “Fine.  When does she need a place to stay?”

            “Now.”

            “Right now?”

            “I was going to take her out to eat but I told her you are a good cook.  I thought it would be a good way for you to meet... you know... if you made dinner for us.”

            “No problem.”

 

            She was wearing long, white patent leather boots that extended all the way to her knees.  A maroon mini skirt rode high on her thighs and her patterned blouse was cut so low that it revealed the pink flesh surrounding her nipples.

            She looked so much like Marlo I couldn’t say hello.  I stared, open mouthed, while I took her outstretched hand.  Lyle smiled and looked down at her butt as she walked past us into the living room.

            I said,  “Why don’t you two sit down at the kitchen table while I make dinner?”

            They sat down.

            I asked her,  “How about a beer or a glass of wine?”

            She said,  “No thank you.  Water will be fine.”

            Lyle said,  “Do you have any Budweiser's left buddy?”

            “Sure.”

            I got two Buds from the refrigerator.  I sat down at the table and asked her,  “Can I get you a coke?”

            She said, “No thank you.  Water is OK.”

            She seemed younger than 18 and I was suspicious.

            Lyle said,  “Don’t be shy, ask her some questions.”

            “I’m not shy.  Lyle says you need a place to stay.”

            “Yes.”

            “I heard the bad news.  That he burned you clothes and.…" I didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

            She looked down at the table for a moment.  She said,  “I didn’t think he could do something that…. So brutal.”

            I said,  “It sounds horrible.  I don’t know what you can do.”

            Lyle said,  “Nothin.  She can’t do nothing.”

            “Well, you’re welcome to stay here.”

She smiled and looked at Lyle.

I said,  “What about your father?  Won’t he take you back?”

            Lyle’s jaw dropped.  He said, gruffly,  “She can’t go back there man.”

            I got up to check the filet mignons.  “Do you want your filet mignon rare or..."

            “Medium rare.”  Candace said.

            “Bloody.”  Lyle said.  He looked at her and said,  “Tell him about that john.  Tell him what you told me, you know...” He nudged her with his elbow.

            She was looking at her hands.

            “Come on.  Tell him the story you just told me.  The one about the guy with the long..."

            “Lyle!”  Her small voice rose to a harsh, high-pitched cry.

            He turned to me and said,  “Brad ain’t shy,” and began to tell the story himself.  “She had this john who had this long...”

            “Lyle!”  She colored down to her cleavage.

            I said,  “Don’t ask her to say anything she doesn’t want to, man.”

            She looked at me with grateful eyes.  I asked, point blank,  “How old are you Candace?”

            “You can call me Candy.”

            “Candy.”

            Lyle said,  “She’s 18 Bradford.  I told you already.”

            “I’m 17.”

            I said,  “You’re underage.”

            She looked at Lyle. His face was red and he was breathing hard.  He took out his aspirator and inhaled twice.  She leaned over him with a concerned look and I saw that the horses on her blouse were like the horses in Marlo’s drawings.

           

As soon as he finished his steak, Lyle jumped up, kissed Candy on the cheek and said he had to go home.  She seemed suddenly frightened and she got up with him as if she wanted to follow him.

            I got up too and said, spontaneously,  “You’re really tall.”

            She said,  “I grew three inches this year.”

            Her back was turned towards Lyle and his eyes glowed with desire.  He said, with his hand on the front door knob,  “What did I tell you?”

            I smiled.

            He said to Candy,  “I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”

            Nervously, she blew him a kiss.

            The door closed and when I turned around she was looking at her boots.

            “I like your boots.”

            “Thank you.”  She studied one of the rings on her hand.

            I said,  “It’s pretty.  Is it a diamond?”

            “Yes.  A john gave it to me.  It was his wife’s wedding ring.  She died of cancer.”

            “Can I look at it?”  I took her hand.  I counted eight small diamonds surrounding a large one.

            She said,  “I didn’t want to take it but he said he had no one else to give it to.  He made me take it.”

            There was a silence and then she asked,  “Do you want to do something now?”

            I dropped her hand.

            She looked at me with wide, questioning blue eyes.

            “I had a bad experience with a prostitute.” 

            “I’m not a prostitute.”

            “Oh.”

            She looked around the room.  “This is quite a pad you’ve got here.”  She looked at my stereo set.  “It looks like a recording studio.”        

            “Do you like the Beatles?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Abbey Road?”

            “Yeah.”  She smiled and looked me up and down.  “Put it on and turn out the light.”

            I turned out the lights and the first song was “Here Comes the Sun.”   She said it’s too early for the sun, and we laughed.

            I got a baggie of marijuana and asked,  “Do you smoke?”

            “Yeah.”

            I said, “Do you ever say no?”

            She was hurt.

I said,  “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t meet my eyes.

 I said,  “It’s all right.  I don’t feel like it either.”

“Maybe if I take off my blouse.”  Deftly, she unbuttoned her blouse and took it off. 

I started to say something and she put her finger on my lips and said, “Don’t talk. Take off my clothes.”  

            We made love to the sounds of Because and You Never Give me your Money.  She came at the end of Carry that Weight and then came again all the way through The End.  We broke out laughing at Her Majesty.  She said it was her first orgasm.

 

Chapter 5

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