The Juliet (31 page)

The boy was useless, probably only barely awake. He was a tall kid, certainly too tall for the pajamas he wore, which were white with some kind of repeated print that resembled dinner hams. The kid’s hair was so mussed it looked like a bad wig.

The man finally gathered his armload and took it into the trailer. It was unlocked. He left the door open and the boy didn’t seem to know what was expected of him. He turned and raised a hand to wave at Budge before he was called inside with a single urgent word: “Jub.”

Jub. Hammy Jammies was called Jub. Budge didn’t like that information. He knew it would somehow sneak into his nightmares the next time he had them. Budge crawled out of the Roadmaster and made his way towards the edge of the campsite to relieve himself in a ditch full of slag and other debris. Pissing under the stars—it truly was a wonderful world.

“Pardon, brother.”

Budge flinched, buttoned himself back up. He turned and saw that it was the man from the spooky trailer with the spooky kid, but alone this time. He was in work clothes—long pants and a long sleeved shirt with his name stitched on the pocket:
Bill.

Budge said, “What can I do for you, son?”

Son, brother.
The ways men try to contain other men.

“Can I buy one of those beers from you? It’s been a long ride.”

An empty can had slipped out onto the dirt outside the Roadster, giving Budge away. Embarrassed, he gave “Bill” two beers and refused the offer of coins. “You buy next time,” he said.

The shadow man nodded once. “Agreed.” He popped open one can and drained it in three swallows.

“Take her easy.”

“Can’t drink in front of the kid,” the man explained.

Budge grabbed the last can out of the car and rejoined his dark friend. “He a sensitive boy?”

“Very.”

“Well there’s kids in that trailer there. He might strike up a friendship with them. Colored, but nice.”

Both men nodded.

“And there’s my Aunt and Florian in ours. Florian is a little slow, but he’s harmless.”
Unless you’re his mommy.

Nods again. Swallows, too.

“So.”

“Yessir.”

Budge was feeling unreasonably drunk. “What kinda name is Jub, anyway?

The can was dropped, crushed under foot. “What kind of name is Budge?”

Budge was about to ask the man how he knew his name when suddenly Bill was no longer there. Budge awoke standing on High Street at the edge of the drop-off, his pants open and his penis cold. His thigh a little damp. One step and he would have gone over.

The moon was brown behind a veil of mackerel clouds.

“Fucking dreams,” said Budge. Jub was just Budge backwards, wasn’t it? He returned to the Roadster to finish the night, feeling childish relief when he saw the other Buick parked in front of the last trailer. At least he hadn’t dreamed that.

* * *

Come morning, Budge was awakened by the smell of coffee and the rough sounds of adults coughing in the pure, cool air. Everyone was awake already, and as he crawled out of the Roadster’s back seat he saw that the occupants of all three trailers had formed a little breakfast community around the fire ring. Bill and the colored couple sat in chairs around orange embers, and Audrey carried pecan rolls on a melmac platter for all to share. Florian followed her wherever she went. He was fully dressed in his yellowing shirt and suspenders.

The two little boys chased each other, still in their drawers and immune to the morning chill. Poor Jub sat on a camp stool like the adults, wrapped in an army blanket. He smiled shyly each time one of the other boys careened near him in their rule-free game of chase and swat.

The grownups were drinking coffee from a tin pot.

“Morning.” Budge’s eyes felt like they were full of glue.

The boys stopped running. They were identical, but one was a hand taller than the other. It was clear that they had been waiting for Budge to emerge from his automobile cave.

The taller boy asked, “You really an actor?”

Budge attempted to focus on the child, but there was an egg-white halo surrounding him. There were halos surrounding everyone and everything in fact. “I been in a few movies.”

“And TV shows?”

“Yup.”

Florian stopped trailing Audrey, who in her unofficial role as hostess checked on everyone’s coffee and tucked Jub’s blanket a little tighter around his pale face. This talk of movies and shows inspired Florian to jam his fingers deep inside his front trouser pocket. Budge hoped no one noticed his Auntie’s pet exercising his compulsions.

The boys began to rattle off all the programs they could ever remember watching:

“Were you in Star Blast?”

“No.”

“Were you in Lassie?”

“No.”

“Were you in Ruff and Reddy?”

“That’s a cartoon.”

The boys didn’t see why that made any difference at all. Florian had been listening to their interrogation and blurted out, “My mother was a star.”

The fear of being found out lit Auntie Aud’s face, so Budge stepped forward and gave Florian a hard rub along the shoulders. “We excited to go to the Opry House, buddy?” Florian squirmed under the heavy touch, and Budge ignored him to join the rest of the adults around the fire. He took a tin cup of coffee.

The parents of the boys were Doris and George, and they were indeed “lovely.” Bill introduced himself as Theo. He and Jub still wore the same clothes they’d arrived in the evening before, but now Budge could see there was no “Bill” nametag sewn on the breast pocket of Theo’s shirt, and there was no sign that there ever had been.

Guarded handshakes all around, except for Jub. Jub remained un-introduced. Budge guessed the kid was eleven or twelve.

Budge settled into a folding chair and ate two of Aunt Audrey’s pecan rolls. She seemed to have an endless supply. The younger boys resumed their game while Florian watched, apparently fingering himself.

The coffee was gritty magic with each sip sweeping away the haloes of Budge’s hangover. He leaned forward to capture the attention of Doris and George, who seemed concerned about Florian’s behavior. Budge explained, “He’s very religious. Carries a rosary in his front pocket.”

They weren’t entirely convinced. Theo was watching Florian as well, but in a different way. Budge could tell Theo recognized Florian Beale, but for the moment the man would keep his knowledge to himself. For some reason, matricidal maniacs didn’t worry Theo one bit.

Budge asked him, “You keep your camp here year round?”

Theo said, “It’s handy.”

The man wasn’t about to elaborate, so Budge attempted to engage young Jub. “You like to go on adventures with your old man?”

The question seemed to upset the boy. He said, “He’s not old.”

What was it with these kids and the back talk? “That’s not really an answer to my question, kiddo.”

Jub squirmed a little under his blanket before he shifted on his camp stool, turning so that he did not have to face any more questions. Doris and George were embarrassed, but Theo wasn’t. He almost grinned.

That near grin tipped it. Budge said, “Great. That’s just great. Anyone else want to treat me like shit for breakfast?” Jub flinched at the cuss word.

“Budge!” said Audrey.

He stood and raised his palms in that uniquely American gesture that blended the sentiments of
I’m sorry
and
Back the hell off.

He called out to his only ally. “Florian, my man. Quit playing with yourself and let’s get going. The Opry House awaits.”

* * *

Florian sobbed like a baby, and Budge wanted to kick himself. He and Aud should have prepared him better. Not only was the Opera House padlocked, it was also surrounded by a construction fence. No one was allowed to go in or out unless they were connected to the syndicate that had bought the dump. According to the signage, the building was slated for restoration. Budge recognized the contractor as one that built hotels and casinos throughout the state. “Restoration” was a probably a liberal term, then. In desperation, Budge drove the Roadmaster up as close to the fence as they could get, so he and Florian could climb up on it to try to get a look through one of the high windows.

The place was gutted. The only hint of its former glory was the remains of the pink roof. A few tiles were still intact, forming islands on a dark sea of tarpaper.

“It’s okay Flo. There’s a lot of other interesting junk around here.”

Florian wept and wheezed. Budge tried to be patient, but he was unpracticed. “It’s a ghost town, man. It’s all broken. That’s what it means.”

Florian shook his head. It was as if nothing else mattered. Budge had seen him fuss before, but nothing on this scale. He needed to get the fellow back to Auntie Audrey as soon as possible. She would know what to do.

Florian put his arms over his head, exposing his stained pits and straining at the seams of his shirt. He looked like he was trying to defend himself from an attack by birds. Budge tried to guide him back into the car, but Florian shook him off. His face was tear-streaked, and he gave off a musky, stressed animal odor. He reached into his pocket, rummaging deep as he had done before. This time Budge could see that Florian was wearing his rosary beads under his shirt. His hand worked harder in the pocket.

“Hey, cut that out man. That’s not copasetic.”

Florian stopped and tried to look into Budge’s eyes, but he could only bear it for a second or two. He removed his hand from his pocket to show his new brother what he had done.

Florian’s fat fingers could barely contain the two huge emeralds. He gripped them like a pair of farm eggs.

“Jesus, Florian. What is going on here?”

“They returned her to me. After the trial.”

“Holy shit.” The Juliet. Budge had always assumed the stones had been seized by the government or put in a museum, but technically, they did belong to Florian, didn’t they? And here he was, just walking around with them in his filthy pockets.

Budge almost asked him,
did Audrey know,
but then he realized of course she did. That’s why she took Florian in. She thought she was going to get her hands on those green beauties someday.

Oh, Auntie Aud.

Budge felt a little winded. Surprise plus the air in Centenary was as good as a session on the heavy bag. “Shouldn’t you keep those in a safe deposit box?”

The question was almost too complex to answer, but Florian tried. “Audrey said no. We keep them in the owls.”

The owls. Audrey prized her two hideous glass owls from Avon. They were squat containers shaped like mongoloid versions of the night birds with gold painted metal lids. They contained bath oil beads that, as Budge recalled, were emerald green. She kept them on display on the shelf in her bathroom and said the beads were for guest use only.

They never had any guests.

Genius. She hid the halves of The Juliet in those bath bead jars. How many times had Budge taken a shit staring at those ugly owls?

And no safe deposit box. Audrey was playing a long game, one in which Florian and The Juliet would someday be forgotten, along with their histories of death and mayhem.

“Why did she let you bring these out here of all places?”

Florian looked scared.

Budge guessed the answer. “She doesn’t know.”

“I must get rid of them. Before she gets hurt.” Florian was talking about the curse. He loved Audrey Lange. She was his new mother, after all.

The shadow cast by the Opera House was thinning as Budge tried to figure out his stake in this mess. Aud had raised him, and they should have been partners. Maybe she was planning to tell him about the emeralds one day, but maybe she wasn’t. Had she’d taken Florian in because she was a good woman or was she looking for a payoff like everyone else?

Budge said, “So you thought you should bring The Juliet back home.”

“Mr. Oliver won her in a card game with an old man. The old man lived in the Opera House.”

That didn’t sound right, but Budge wasn’t going to argue. “Put them back in your pocket. We’ll find a better place to hide them.”

“Not hide.”

“Sorry. We’ll ‘get rid’ of them. In the right place where they can’t do any more damage.”

Florian nodded and returned the stones to the depths of his pocket.

A thin, high voice interrupted them. “I know a wonderful place.”

It was Jub. He seemed to appear from nowhere. He was dressed in large khaki shorts, a shirt of the same material, a cap, and a kerchief scarf. A Boy Scout’s uniform, and this time, instead of the clothes being too small for his arachnoid frame, they were a size too large. He was swimming in them. His hair, though clamped down by the cap, still stuck out like straw.

There was no chance Budge was dreaming this time. The boy was here. The boy was real. And he had been eavesdropping.

Before Budge could chastise the gangly spy, Florian stepped forward, clearly relieved. “Where?” he asked.