Robert Coover - John's Wife

Yea, though those who find it are few, entering through the narrow gate the hard way (never let him down yet) was Waldo’s most sacred intention and imminent prospect. As soon as he cleared out the tinhorn competition: going off to get the goods had lost him his place in line. No hurry, this make was a lock, enjoy a bit of the day’s festivities. He already had a buzz on, having sampled the merchandise, and felt very much in control of his own destiny. And hers. He chatted with Kevin at the grill while munching a steak-burger and admiring, over Kev’s shoulder, the cheeks of her little pink ass, plumped out under the ragged hems of her cutoff shorts and dazzlingly aglow in the sunshine like painted fruit. A few clumsy greenhorns around her, a teller and a shopclerk or two, the poor kid looked bored out of her gourd, seemingly amused most by old gin-soaked one-eyed Trivial Trev who could hardly keep his balance, drunk as Waldo’d ever seen him. Kevin, wearing one of the new line of pro shop shirts today as advertisement, said he was surprised that old Floyd had gotten the big transport job instead of Waldo, and Waldo said he was surprised, too, and for a minute the buzz faded and his prick went limp, but then he laughed and said that interior decorating was more in his line, if you know what I mean. Kevin laughed and said he did, leaning in to turn the dogs and burgers, and just then the little bimbo with the juicy bumbo glanced up: Waldo patted his pocket and winked, and she smiled, lifting tittering red-faced Trev’s hand off her overflowing bubby where it seemed to have fallen from out of the sky as if by accident. Waldo wiped the mustard off his mouth, asked Kevin to hold back one of those new shirts for him—“A big red one, stud!”—and walked over to ask Trevor if it was true that it was a hen that had pecked his eye out. Trev’s mood darkened and he tried to reply in kind, probably meaning to ask if Waldo’s ears had got that big because his wife was always pulling him around by them, as Waldo himself would have done, but what came out in a wet loose-lipped slur was ‘“Syour ear big ‘ike ‘at f’m getting it pulled off alla time?” “Well,” Waldo was able to drawl, staggering Triv with a clap to the shoulder, “pulling it off is one way to make it bigger, old son, but when you grow up I’ll show you a better one,” and Sassy Buns grinned and popped a bubble and said: “Why can’t you old guys talk like normal people? Come on, really, how did you lose it?” “Y’wood’n b’lieve me’f I tole you,” Trevor said, lifting his chin, his good eye rolling about haphazardly in its socket. He spread his arms out as far as he could reach, pitching gin at passersby. “It wuzzat big!” “What was?” He flushed and burped, wiped the drool. “You know.” He might have been trying to grin wickedly or he might have been about to throw up, it was hard to tell. “That!” he squeaked and reached round and grabbed the girl’s fanny, then keeled straight over on his face, dragging her shorts partway down as he fell. Those around her whistled and laughed and she said, snapping her rags back in place and pulling her feet out from under the fallen body: “I thought this was where the nice people were!” Waldo patted his pocket. “Some are nicer than others, pet. Ready for a cee-break?” “Yeah,” she said, with a gum-cracking glance Kev’s way. She blew a kiss at his back. “Let’s go get it on.” He’d called Dutch, it was all set, but one problem: his old beat-up wagon was gone. Lollie must have taken it. But hadn’t he just seen her a few minutes ago? Damn. Waldo figured he’d have to hit up John, risk losing momentum, maybe worse, but then he spied one of his good brother’s chariots — his famous blazing saddle — blocking the driveway, checked: the keys were inside. This was indeed a beautiful day. Even if he hadn’t gotten the promotion he so richly deserved. “Here we are,” he said, popping the doors open with a slow triumphant wink. “Wow! Cool!” He could tell the kid was really impressed by the way her unharnessed tits bounced when she hopped in and stroked the leather seats. “Okay, baby,” he growled, “get ready to fly!”

Clarissa had been ready all afternoon. Hadn’t he promised? All she had on was a cut-off tee shirt, sandals, and her thinnest shorts, no underpants, just in case she got back on his lap again. No, not in case, but when. She’d told him she really got off on flying with the world above her head and she wanted to do that on her own and he’d smiled that tragic smile that made her feel so creamy and said next time she could. Sometimes, she’d said, she felt like she wanted to fly straight into the sun, and he said sometimes he felt that way, too. She remembered his hand lingering on her bottom as he lifted her off his lap: it was like a delicious dream and made her want to put her own hands between her legs. And his. But so far no Uncle Bruce. What was more ominous: no Jen either. When she’d asked Jen’s father, he’d said he didn’t know where she was, he’d thought she’d come here with her mom. But he was very vague and tried to change the subject and asked about her own mother and Clarissa was pretty sure he knew more than he was telling her. Jen’s mother, of course, was not merely vague, she was completely out of the human loop, and when Clarissa asked her where Jen was, she hiked up her disgustingly huge tummy with both hands and replied in her little singsong voice that we are all in the universe and the universe is in all of us. Great, thanks a lot. The Creep had not shown up, but after what had happened, no one expected him to. As for his little sister Zoe, she was as big a help as her mother. She said she’d heard Jennifer talking on the telephone to a girl. “That was me, dummy, I was talking to her on the telephone, but then what?” “I dunno. I think she took a bath.” Clarissa got angry and tried to press Zoe for something serious, but the little crybaby just puckered up and ran to her mother. It was very frustrating. When, in a casual way, she asked about Uncle Bruce while helping her father carry food and stuff out to the backyard, he’d paused to glance, unsmiling, at her costume (she was wearing as much as he was, wasn’t she?), then had said that as far as he knew Bruce was in town so he’d probably turn up sooner or later, here, princess, take this pepper mill and cold six-pack out to the guys at the grill. Out there, they were emptying the water from an ice bucket on the face of an old man with an eyepatch lying on the ground, her daddy’s spooky accountant. They were all laughing so he probably wasn’t dead. Old Hoot ‘n’ Holler, her Sunday School teacher, was praying over him just the same, while his wife stood by in her usual pathetic daze, looking like she’d swallowed something she shouldn’t have. Then her Aunt Ronnie, who wasn’t exactly her aunt, turned up in nothing but her wrinkled nightgown, completely wigged out, and when her husband tried to reason with her she started screaming bloody murder like he was trying to kill her or something. Boy, marriage, it was really great. Clarissa’s dad took charge, as he always did, and led the crazy woman upstairs, but why, she wondered, did he even have goony friends like these? Clarissa turned around and bumped into her granddad who gave her a boozy hug before she could duck it and asked her if she knew where her granny was. Clarissa said if she wasn’t here she was probably visiting Grampa Barn at the rest home. A plane flew over but it wasn’t his, it wasn’t even a jet. She was so mad she felt like hitting something, so when the banker’s wife asked her if she had enjoyed the parade today, she snapped back that parades were for little kids and mental retards. “You may be right,” the lady smiled. “Certainly they do have a lot of fun at them.” It was hopeless. She went inside and called the manse again but nobody answered. Her stupid little brother was wrapping a couple of his nerdy buddies up in sheets, no doubt for one of his sicko plays. They looked like cocoons with their heads hooded and just their hands and feet sticking out. She gave one of them a kick with the side of her sandaled foot and asked him if he could feel it. He could. He was bawling. The other one asked her not to kick him, but she did anyway. “Gotta be fair,” she said. Then her Aunt Ronnie came down the stairs on her father’s arm, dressed in one of her mom’s linen dresses, which didn’t quite fit, and looking trembly and wild-eyed, and when she saw the boys in their sheets she freaked out again. “Now there’s two of them!” she screamed and went running out through the kitchen, where there was suddenly a very loud clatter. Her father scowled darkly at all of them on his way through, and Clarissa said: “Now see what you’ve done, Mikey, you little idiot!” But he didn’t care, he never did. Still no answer at the manse. She listened to it burping away for a long time, her rage rising with every ring. If Jen had betrayed her, she’d kill her. She suddenly felt terribly lonely, her chest tight like she was about to have a heart attack. She wished she could find Nevada, but she didn’t know how, had never asked. She was the only person besides her dad she could still trust. She hated to have people see her cry, but if she was going to start, Nevada was the person she wanted to be with. She was the only one who’d understand.