Lidia Yuknavitch - Dora - A Headcase

Marlene’s got an indigo silk kimono on and a blonde braid helmet — like Heidi. I mean if Heidi was a black tranny. Marlene showed me the Shirley Temple “Heidi.” It’s awesome. Orphan Heidi is left at her grandfather’s mountain cabin by her mean aunt Dete. The old man is a grump. Slowly, he grows to love Heidi. Evil Dete returns and farms Heidi out as a companion for Klara, a rad wheelchair girl. The housekeeper, Frau Rottenmeier — yeah, I know — fucking hates Heidi. When Heidi teaches Klara to walk again, Frau Rottenmeier tries to sell Heidi to gypsies. But her grandfather sacks up, sells all his shit, and finds her.

Heidi should have gone with the gypsies.

I don’t have braids. Or hair. I’m still bald … more than a chemo head though. I rub my head for luck. “You ready to hear it?” I go, holding my finger over the playback button.

“Yes Lamskotelet,” Marlene goes, but then she says “wait!” and she runs around the kitchen gathering two fluted glasses and some red shit in a bottle from the fridge.

“Um, what’s that?” I say, pointing to the cough syrup looking stuff.

“Kirsch! We are celebrating your capture!”

Kirsch, it turns out, is German for cherry water. Distilled from black morello cherries and their pits. You’d think it would taste sweet, but it doesn’t. It tastes like almonds and pepper. We toast. She pours again. We toast again. She pours again. My head’s kinda hot and my cheeks flush. She laughs the Marlene laugh. I laugh a laugh I’ve never heard come out of me before.

Whoever we are right then, I suddenly wish it wouldn’t end. I grin so big I feel air all through my teeth. I push playback. The first voice is the ferret guy’s from the restaurant.

The H4n goes, “ What are you drinking, you wily bastard? Scotch? Lemme get you a scotch. Sigmund, I gotta tell you, you’re gonna want a stiffie when you hear what I’ve got. It’s hot, baby, I’m telling you it’s hot.”

“Am I to infer that the publisher has purchased my collection of case studies?”

Sound of an old man’s hands rubbing briskly together.

I hit pause. I’m nervous. Who knows why. I take a deep breath. I look across the kitchen table at Marlene. She smiles. I finish off my cough syrup. I can feel it sticky on my upper lip. I hit play again.

“Think bigger, Sigmund.”

Sound of ice spinning maniacally in a glass.

“I told you, I’ve found the ultimate case study. This is the one that will prove to be the pièce de résistance — this exquisite plum,” the recorder says.

I jam my finger on the pause button of the H4n. It scoots across the table. “Plum? Which one of us is his plum?”

I sit staring at the H4n on Marlene’s table. Marlene wears an expression of concern. I stand up. I sit down. “Gimme another shot of that cherry shit. I think I’m going to need it.” She pours. Rain beats on the kitchen window. My head itches. My cheeks suddenly feel like fucking burning plums.

I hit playback. Siggy’s voice sounds tight and screechy.

“What ‘bigger picture?’ Is it the publisher? Jackasses. The prestige I have brought to them over the years!”

Sound of old man fist hitting table.

“Sigmund. Sig. My friend. Settle down. Will ya? It’s not even about the book anymore. Books are dead, Sig, books are dead.”

Sound of dishes being cleared at nearby table.

“Do you mean MY book? Is MY book dead? Listen you little money-grubbing weasel — ”

Sound of table wear rattling.

I hit pause. This time I’m laughing. But my laugh sounds tight and raw.

Marlene tilts her head. “Liebchen,” she asks.

“Yeah?” I go.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

I cough. “I’m sure,” I go. Something in my head ticks. Then I punch the playback.

The H4n jumps to life. “Sig! Calm down, calm down! Here — here’s your drink. Drink it. No, really. Get a good gulp down. Stop waving your arms around! You don’t want to make a scene, do you? Cheers, old man. Raise a glass. It’s a celebration.”

Sound of gulping.

“OK. You OK now? OK. Here’s the gig, baby. We’ve been picked up. Biggest production company in television.”

Sound of waiters bringing food.

“What? What in the world does that mean? What does television have to do with me?”

“What’s television got to do with you? Hello? Dr. Phil? Dr. Ruth? Dr. Oz? Intervention? Television is the new paid reality, my friend. And I just bought you your ticket in. Once Oprah gets her ass out there’s going to be a huge vacuum … and we’re gonna fill that air, baby.”

Sound of strained breathing and coughing.

Sound of hand slapping back.

“Sigmund? Sig? You all right buddy? I know! I can’t believe it either. You gonna make it? Sig. Buddy. Here — for christ’s sake — have a little blow. It will calm you the fuck down.”

Old man snorting sound. Old man coughing sound.

“Sigmund! My man! Drink some water. Lemme lay it out for you. I pitched you! Get it? They want you, Sig. They really, really want you. One year contract in the bag. Second year optioned.”

“But my book… my life’s work … I would never agree to this! It’s the epitome of unethical!”

“Whoa! Sig! This blows your book out of the water! Are you even listening to me? Hello? Those case studies you are so proud of? They’re not going to die some dusty old death. They’re going live. We’re getting ‘em scripted and re-enacted. One a week. We need a new ‘you,’ but I got that covered … and we’ll need to … you know, change some stuff around so we don’t get our asses sued or anything, but…”

“It’s unethical. It’s out of the question. ”

Sound of old man slamming scotch.

“What did you mean by a ‘new me’?”

“It’s big money.”

Coughing.

“Big. Money.”

Coughing.

“The clincher is your teen little monster girl. The other case studies look like zombies compared to her. So the only catch is, you have to bag that one. I mean nail that girl. When I told them what she looks like and the kind of shit she pulls? POW. Without her, we don’t have shit.”

I’m across the kitchen by now. “STOP it,” I yell. Marlene jams her blue lacquered nail on the pause button. The H4n slides across the table like it’s trying to run. I stomp back to the table. I pick the H4n up. I want to punch it or throw it across the room. I slam it back down. I begin to cough. Hack, actually. Whoppers. “Rewind it.” Marlene rewinds. “Play that shit again. Because I can’t believe my fucking ears.”

Before I realize what I’m doing I pick up the bottle of cough syrup and chuck it across the room. It shatters like kid wishes all over her white wall.

“Lamskotelet!” Marlene says.

I stare at the red stain I’ve made. Fucking Rorschach.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” I get all down on the floor and start picking up the glass shards. My throat gets tight. My head feels like it has a rubber band around it. My eyes are watering like a girl’s. I’m coughing and coughing. I cut my hand pretty much immediately. Of course. Marlene comes over and takes my hands in hers and walks me to the kitchen sink. She runs cold water over my hand and thumb. Blood rivers down her drain.

“Everybody uses everybody until we’re all just a bunch of used up shit sacks waiting to go to dirt,” I go.

Marlene doesn’t say anything. She dries my hands. She reaches under the sink and gets a first aid kit and wraps my cut up hand with a gauze bandage, slowly. I stare at the little red cleft in my hand. Don’t cry, pussy .

Then a numb comes. It’s a numb I know. It’s the numb of a girl checking out. Whatever they say next can’t fucking touch me. I’m long gone. One way or another, I will end this. But on my terms. I turn the volume up. Marlene picks up glass on the floor. The next voice is Sig’s. His voice is all over the map.