Where the Kissing Never Stops (14 page)

“Really?”

“Girls are mammals just like boys.”

“Oh, okay. Right after she gets in the door, I’ll just say, ‘Baby, you’re a mammal just like me,’ then she’ll moan and tear off her clothes.”

Sully looked down at the floor. “I sound like a jerk sometimes, don’t I?”

I put my hand on his bony shoulder. “No. I mean yes, but no.”

“You should be the one giving me advice. I’m the virgin, not you. Some psychiatrist I’m going to make. My clients will say, ‘Doctor, sex bothers me a lot.’ And I’ll say, ‘Sex? What’s that?’”

“No, you won’t.”

“Do you know why I don’t try to make love with Peggy?” he asked abruptly. “Because I’m afraid she’ll laugh at me. I like Peggy and she likes me, but I’m so scared she’ll compare me to some superstud she’s known that…”

“I don’t think Peggy would ever do that.”

“Honestly?” He dropped his doctor act completely. He really wanted to know.

“Honestly. Besides, when you whisper that you’re both mammals, how can she resist?”

“What’s Sully laughing about?” asked Rachel, waving to him as he retreated.

“Boy talk,” I said facetiously.

“Not about me, I hope.”

“Oh, Rachel, no. Really.”

She took my hand quickly. “I know. I’m sorry.” She looked down, then up, down again, and up like someone consulting a guidebook, matching the picture with the site.

“Do you feel different?” she asked quietly.

“Not really, do you?”

She shook her head. “I even inspected myself in the mirror.”

“You look the same, but you always look good to me.”

She moved closer. “You always look good to me, too.”

The warning bell rang. “Why, uh, why don’t we, uh, study together tonight?”

“Okay. My house?”

“No, uh… over there.” I pointed toward home, but I couldn’t seem to get the words out.

She looked puzzled. “Over where?”

“You know.”

“What, the library?”

“Mine,” I croaked.

“Yours?”

“My house,” I gasped.

“What about your mom?”

“She’ll be gone. We won’t bother anybody. We can get a lot done.” Oh, I felt slimy. But Rachel had this shy little smile.

“Okay,” she said. “What time?”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Then she was gone to class, and I was alone in the hall trying to arrange my books casually in front of me so that nobody could see. Either that, or I could claim
Silas Marner
was the most stimulating novel I’d ever read, and I could prove it.

That afternoon Sully and I were loading my old Schwinn into the back of the Cadillac when he stopped and asked, “Why did you take this thing today? When I came by and your mom said you’d ridden your bike to school, I couldn’t believe it.”

“You’re a teen psychiatrist — you tell me.”

“Maybe just a little trip down Memory Lane? You took a big step yesterday; you said goodbye to your childhood.” Idly he spun the front wheel. “God, remember how we used to clip playing cards on these? What was all that about, anyway?”

“Are you kidding? It made the bicycles sound like cars. That’s all we talked about, owning a car and having girlfriends. Which reminds me, let’s get this show on the road.”

We settled into the red leather seats. Not far away sat Rachel’s little Firebird.

“So,” said Sully, “where to?”

“Your friendly neighborhood prophylactic emporium.”

“Aha. Well, thank God they don’t come in sizes. Remember when we bought our first jockstraps and the guy at the store asked, ‘Small, medium, or large?’ I thought he meant my poor little wee-wee.”

“I don’t even know what kind to buy.”

“Goodyear. It’s a name you can trust. And just play it straight. Stay away from the ribbed models and anything in six exciting colors.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Oh, and the novelty items. Tommy Thompson had one in gym the other day and it looked like a souvenir from Sea World.”

“They aren’t hard to use, are they?”

“Can you put on a sock?”

“Where should we go? I feel like driving into Kansas City, where nobody knows me.”

“How about Gent’s Pharmacy?”

“Gee, I’ve known Mr. Gent all my life.”

“So what? He’s a pro, Walker. He isn’t going to call your mom.”

Downtown Bradleyville was slowly dying out. The Westgate Mall had taken a lot of business, and if Rachel’s father could buy up enough land fast enough, there would be another one to siphon off what was left. Malls like bookends. Stereo malls.

In the Toggery stood the same mannequins that had been there as long as I could remember. At night someone changed their clothes, discreetly drawing a green curtain around them like an aide bathing the elderly. Then they appeared the next day, always dressed, it seemed, in last year’s fashions.

At the pharmacy, there was some kid that could have been me ten years ago, reading a comic book featuring Casper, the Friendly Ghost. There were the same hot-water bottles and enema bags.

“Should we browse,” asked Sully, “casually buying a thermos, a chaise lounge, two Ace combs, and oh, yeah, by the way, a dozen rubbers?”

I took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with.”

Mr. Gent stood behind the counter like a pastor, both hands balanced on their fingertips. He even remembered my name, and he called Sully
Gerald.

I asked for twelve of his best prophylactics.

“What?” He actually cupped his ear like an old codger in a bad movie.

“Terrific,” I muttered to Sully. “Here we stand in the middle of downtown Bradleyville at four o’clock in the afternoon, shouting about rubbers.”

Sully reached for a pad and pencil. “I’ll write him a note.”

Mr. Gent unfolded the yellow paper and frowned. “What do you boys want these for?”

“For the prevention of disease only, sir,” Sully answered.

He snapped open a small bag, the same kind he used to put our penny candy in. Then he turned around, one hand poised like a symphony conductor.

“Don’t you want to tell him your brand?”

“I’m not going to smoke them, Gerald.”

“We’ll have to check these things out. They’re probably part of the original shipment from when he opened in 1912.”

“Well, let’s do it somewhere besides here, okay?”

“Walker, you can’t bring them back, you know. They’re like swimsuits.”

Mr. Gent put the package on the counter and I paid him. “Just a minute,” he said, returning my change. Sully and I looked at each other apprehensively. Then he reached into a box with these words on it:
For Good Little Boys and Girls.
A Tootsie Pop for each of us: one lemon, one cherry.

I was flattered when Rachel picked up the phone on the second ring, and even more flattered when she didn’t even wait for a hello but asked, “Walker?”

“How did you know?”

“I wanted it to be you. Is everything okay?”

“Sure. My mom still has this cold, but she went to work anyway.”

“So, should I come over?”

“I guess I was thinking she might get worse and come home early.”

“Doesn’t she know we’re going to study together?”

“Oh, sure,” I lied.

“I’d just leave if she wanted to go to sleep.”

I was really getting nervous; the phone was slippery as a trout. Childhood began to look a lot better. I felt like a reluctant immigrant gazing back toward the peaceful countryside of his native land.

“Watch for me, okay? I’m not sure I can find your place in the dark. Blink your porch light.”

“Wait, it’s —” But she hung up. I went to the window immediately, half expecting to see neighbors lining the streets with cameras and notebooks.

I was sure I should take a shower: if you can’t be anything else, be clean, I guess. In the bathroom I looked at myself in the mirror. God, my legs were so white compared to the rest of me. On a pet that would have been considered interesting markings; on a human I wasn’t so sure. I was afraid Rachel would take one look at me and just crack up, but short of redwood deck stain, there was nothing I could do.

I stood in the shower and washed everything. I’d seen a movie where people exposed to radioactivity were scrubbed by experts until they almost cried. I made that look like a mother’s caress. Then I brushed my teeth six or seven times and stepped back to inspect myself.

It was hot in the bathroom and I was sweating. When I practiced a winning smile, my teeth were pink; I’d brushed too hard and my gums were bleeding. So there I was, multicolored, dripping wet, and leering like a vampire.

Then I didn’t know what to wear. Men in old movies have silk dressing gowns; I had a robe I hadn’t worn in years, with Scooby-Doo on the back. I certainly couldn’t greet her in a suit; the only one I owned Mom had bought me for my father’s funeral. Looking at it hanging there made my chest ache. Maybe I could burst into tears, too. And sweat like a beer stein. And bleed from the gums. I wouldn’t need a condom. I
was
birth control. No sensible woman would come within half a mile of me.

I settled for jeans and a T-shirt, and just in time, too. I’d no more than stationed myself at the front window when I saw Rachel’s car creeping down the street with only its parking lights on. Every few yards or so she beeped the horn. She couldn’t have been more conspicuous if she’d had sirens and a gong.

I turned on the porch light, stood in the open door, and waved. Up the walk she came, carrying an armload of books.

“Hi, sailor,” she said.

“Very funny.” We linked our arms around one another’s waists and kissed, clumsy as second cousins.

I closed the door behind us. “Your house looks bigger,” she said.

“My mother’s not here. Mothers take up an incredible amount of space.”

“Where should I put my books?”

“On the bed.”

“What bed?”

“Couch. I meant couch.”

“You built a fire. It’s nice.”

All the better to warm you with.
I felt like a toothy old wolf.

Rachel settled down to read. Absently she chewed her lower lip as she concentrated; I wanted to chew it, too. Idly she scratched her knee: I wanted to scratch it. Occasionally she glanced at me and smiled as I sat there clutching a magazine like I was in the dentist’s office. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“I don’t want to study!” I shouted.

“God, Walker.” She put her hand to her throat. “You scared me.”

“I got you over here on false pretenses.”

“I know,” she said, smiling.

“I bought condoms and everything.”

“I bought something, too. Some kind of foam.”

“Really?”

“Peggy went with me.”

“Sully went with me. Where did you go?”

“The mall. I brought it along, just in case we didn’t spend all our time studying.”

I moved closer to her. “I had to tell you. I couldn’t just start in kissing. It felt too creepy.”

“I like it this way. It’s honest.” She took a deep breath. “I’m scared.”

“Me too. A little.”

“Your mom won’t come home, will she?”

“It’s a million to one. She’s probably onstage right now.”

“On what stage?”

“Pardon me?”

“What stage is your mom on right now?”

“Did I say that? I meant on call.”

“Like a nurse?”

“More like a bartender on call during that stage of the evening when it’s really busy.” Lying regularly was certainly making me clever; I would probably grow up and sell used cars.

“I have to use this,” she said, opening her purse. I heard the rattle of paper. Then out came something white.

“God, it’s huge.”

“This is my kitchen timer. We have to wait fifteen minutes.” Then she handed me the product.

“Why unicorns?”

“They all had either unicorns on the front or flowers.” She stood up and smoothed her skirt demurely. “I guess I’ll go to the bathroom. Will you be here?”

“My bedroom’s right down the hall.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you there.”

She appeared in the bedroom door, turned the short fat arrow of the timer to 15, and put it on the dresser.

“Now we have to wait.”

“We could rest,” I said, making room for her on the bed. I’d turned the sheets back already, partly to hide the Batman spread. Above us hung a P-47 my father had helped me build, and it moved in the sweet evening breeze: rock-a-bye-baby.

“I like your airplane,” she said.

“Thank you.”

We lay side by side for a while, staring up, arms crossed on our chests like Mr. and Mrs. Dracula.

“Do you want to use what you bought?”

“Isn’t the cream enough?”

“I wouldn’t want anything to happen. My dad would go crazy.”

I’d hidden my purchase deep in my sock drawer. As I searched, the clock ticked relentlessly. I could have been on some sleazy cable game show called “Find the Condom.”

I looked at the timer on my dresser. There it stood, next to a picture of me and my folks. I was six and sitting on the traditional pony.

“Would it help to take our clothes off?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t have very big breasts,” she said.

“Neither do I.”

“I just mean this is different than the car. This is the real thing. We’re going to see each other.”

“My stomach is soft,” I said.