Vernon God Little

  ‘I know, I know.’

  I try to shunt my ole lady up to the front door, to witness Lally’s shame, but her skin-tight pants don’t make her any lighter; she won’t budge at all.

  Lally opens the door to the man. ‘Don’t tell me – you’re on a recovery mission.’

  ‘Yeah, if you can spare it,’ says the guy.

  ‘Here you go, fifty dollars – and thanks.’

  Now Mom grabs me by the shoulders – fucken me, no less – and spins me into the corner. ‘Vernon, don’t tell your nana, but I had to raid the lawnmowing fund to help Lally. His camera equipment wiped the code from his Visa card. I’ll put it back as soon as my loan is approved.’

  ‘Ma, I needed that money . . .’

  ‘Well Vernon Gregory, you know that’s Nana’s lawnmowing account, and it’s supposed to be earning interest for your college fund.’

  ‘Yeah, like you get a whole pile of interest off fifty dollars.’

  ‘Well I know it’s not much, but it’s all I have – just a mother on my own.’

  Lally finishes with the reporter, but he doesn’t come inside. Does he fuck. Instead he stands on the porch and hollers: ‘Park in the driveway, Preacher – the girls won’t be leaving for a while.’ He leaves the front door open, and swaggers into the kitchen, passing me by without a glance.

  ‘Lally, I forgot to mention,’ says Mom, ‘a lady called for you, from the network I think.’

  ‘A lady?’ Lally’s hand twitches over his crotch.

  ‘Uh-huh, she sounded very senior – she’ll call back later.’

  ‘She didn’t leave a name?’

  ‘Well she said it was your office – I told her to call back.’

  One of Lally’s eyes snaps to me. A quivery eye. Then he grabs Mom around the belly and says, ‘Thanks, Vanessa – you’re indispensable.’

  ‘Van-essa?’ say the ladies.

  Mom swells. ‘Well, I can’t tell you much now – can I, Lalito?’

  ‘Suffice to say,’ says Lally, ‘the network was impressed with her appearance the other day. No promises, but we could be seeing a lot more of her – when the right strategies are in place.’

  ‘I’ll always be the same old Doris to you girls, though, you know I won’t change a bit, deep down.’

  Check Leona. Her mouth flaps empty of words for a moment, then she goes, ‘Wow, it’s weird because, did I tell you guys my new dialogue coach is sending my reel to the networks? Right after I get back from Hawaii – God, that’s so weird, isn’t it . . .?’

  Mom just snuggles back into Lally’s arms. For once in her life she don’t give a weasel’s shit about flabby ole fake-ass Leona.

  ‘Vanessa Le Bourget,’ Lally says into my ole gal’s ear. ‘Boor-jay,’ he croons, like the cartoon skunk off TV, the one that always tries to fuck the cat. Mom just about shits on the floor when she hears it. Leona nearly bursts out fucken bawling. Lally’s on a roll. I just let him roll. ‘Tch, I can’t wait to share you with the crew back in New York, you’ll just love those guys.’

  ‘Well don’t be impatient, Lalito, everything has its time. Meanwhile you’ll have everything you need, even though it’s just lil’ ole me, in this itty-bitty town.’

  ‘You can say itty again – damn hole doesn’t even have a sushi bar!’

  ‘Not like Nacogdoches,’ I say.

  ‘Nacog-doches?’ says Betty. Lally shoots me the devil’s eye.

  ‘Bwanas tardies,’ booms the pastor, stepping through the door like he’s a fucken Meskin all of a sudden. Bwanas tardies my fucken ass.

  ‘C’mon in, Preacher,’ says Lally. ‘Can I fix you a loosener?’ Lally’s eye doesn’t scan my way anymore. His eye has a new scanning pattern.

  ‘Thanks, but no,’ says Gibbons, ‘I have to get that refrigerator moved into the media center – it’s a mighty fine donation, I can’t thank y’all enough.’

  ‘Vernon, perhaps you’ll explain to the pastor why you abandoned his charity stall today,’ says Lally. Tension turns the air in the room to crystals.

  ‘I got a stomach ache.’

  ‘Surely,’ he says, ‘a person bailed for murder would do better to . . .’

  ‘I’m not even on bail for murder, I’m a goddam accessory to Jesus Navarro’s murders – fuck!’

  Lally leans in like a whip and smacks the back of my head. ‘Control yourself!’

  I fill with acid blood. Mom starts to bawl in the corner, making it as difficult as possible for the ladies to maneuver her to the sofa.

  ‘Such aggression in that boy,’ says George. ‘He was bound to fetch trouble, with so much aggression.’

  ‘I know, I know – just like that, ehm – other boy . . .’

  A dizzy feeling comes over me as I hit the ring-end of my fucken tether. I pull Lally’s business card out of my pocket, and hold it up in the air. ‘Everybody – I called Yoo-lalio’s office today, and guess who answered? His blind momma, who just had her house emptied by the finance company on account of his van repayments.’ Lally’s eyes turn to coal. ‘Now she’s facing a lawsuit over the camcorder he stole. Did you know he’s actually a TV repairman, who works out of his momma’s bedroom in Nacogdoches?’

  ‘Oh please,’ says Lally. He squeezes his balls but forgets to let go.

  I glance over the bar. The ladies are way perked up. Land of Daytime Milk and Honey for them. I pose dramatically, hoganger makes me do it. ‘You think I lie? I guarantee his mother’s gonna call here just now, hunting his ass. I guarantee it. Just ask her the story.’ A smile comes to my face, know why? Because Lally’s turning white. Everybody stares at him as he leans into the corner, wiping his face with his hand.

  ‘Tch, that’s preposterous. The evil lies coming from this child’s mouth.’ He takes a heavy breath, then turns and spreads his arms to the ladies. ‘Hands up who ever heard of a features reporter moonlighting as a repairman?’ Everybody shakes their heads. ‘And why might that be?’

  ‘Well, because – there’s more money in reporting?’ sniffs Mom. ‘He wouldn’t need to repair TVs, with all that extra money.’

  ‘I rest my case.’

  ‘Wait up,’ I say, ‘I didn’t say he moonlighted as anything – he’s just a repairman with a whole pile of trouble left back in Nacogdoches. Look at his card, go on.’

  ‘Ladies,’ says Lally, ‘this is ridiculous. Do you know how many Ledesma Gutierrezes there are in this country? And have you ever seen me repair a TV?’

  ‘No,’ they say.

  ‘Have you ever seen me on TV, presenting a feature report?’

  ‘Well sure,’ they say, motioning the pastor to join in. ‘We were in it with you!’

  ‘Thank you,’ says Lally. He turns to stare at me. ‘And now, in light of everything we’ve just heard, and, frankly, for our own protection – I’m calling the police.’

  ‘Oh no, Lally, please,’ says Mom.

  ‘Sorry, Vanessa – I’m afraid it’s my duty. The boy needs urgent help.’

  Then, just as my world starts to slip through my fingers, Fate plays a humdinger. The phone rings. Mom gasps to a halt, midfucken-sob. Everybody freezes.

  ‘I’ll get that,’ says Lally.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I say, diving for the phone. ‘Mom, come take this call.’

  My ole lady hunches off the sofa, all shiny around the nose and eyes, and does her finest victimmy shuffle to the phone table. She looks around at everybody, especially Lally, before picking up the phone. A pleading kind of look she gives Lally, real Kicked Dog. Then her voice smoothens like cream. ‘Hello? Mr Ledesma, well sure – may I say who’s calling?’ She hands the phone to Lally. ‘It’s CNN.’

  I grab it back. ‘Mrs Ledesma?’

  ‘Vernon!’ snaps Mom.

  ‘Remember me? From Martirio . . .?’

  ‘Who is this?’ asks the young New Yorker on the phone. Lally snatches the receiver and turns to the wall.

  ‘Renée? Sorry about that – things are a little crazy down here. I got the series?
Fan-tastic!’ He raises a thumb to the ladies. ‘Conditional on what? Not a challenge, we still have the firearm piece, the suspect, and the townsfolk coming to terms with their grief. It can spin-off in a thousand directions.’

  ‘Well you know,’ whispers Mom to the ladies, ‘I couldn’t decide between Vanessa and Rebecca ...’

  ‘I was coping with Doris,’ grunts George.

  Lally finishes the call. He dangles the receiver over the cradle, taking a moment to gaze at everybody. The ladies stare into his eyes, Pastor Gibbons toys in his pocket. Then Lally drops the handset, ‘Crack’, cups his balls through his robe, and strolls to the middle of the room. ‘Before we open the champagne, I guess we have a rather more – human challenge to share.’ His eyes snap to me. ‘Pretty outlandish behavior we saw there, Vernon. Damn scary, actually, in light of everything.’

  ‘Fuck you to hell,’ I say.

  ‘Vernon Gregory!’ snaps Mom.

  Lally pushes a little spit around his mouth. ‘Simple compassion dictates that it’s time to turn this boy over to someone who can help. If we cling when he needs professional care, we may only damage his chances of recovery.’

  ‘You’re the one who needs care,’ I say. ‘Lalo.’

  ‘You are under a psychiatric order, after all.’ He pauses to chuckle, to reminisce. ‘How on earth you concocted that story – the crew back in the Apple will just love that.’ He checks his watch. ‘Come to think of it, they’re probably down at Bunty’s right now.’

  Mom hisses a footnote to the ladies. ‘They have this bar called Bunty’s, you probably heard of it – Bunty’s?’

  ‘Or at the Velvet Mode, for melon slammers,’ says Lally. ‘I might have to give them a call. Right after I contact the sheriff.’

  ‘Well Lally, please,’ says Mom. ‘Can’t we just wait till morning, I mean, he had a stomach ache – he does have this, er – condition . . .’

  The phone rings. Everybody’s face lights up, as if more big deals will trickle down the line. But Lally tightens. This is where the horse would stop doing math on stage. I reach for the handset. He beats me to it.

  ‘Le Bourget residence?’ He tries to flash a good ole boy’s grin to the ladies, but a quiver beats him to it. ‘I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number.’ His breathing quickens.

  I dive around his legs and hit the speaker button. Mrs Ledesma’s voice wails out.

  ‘Lalo, oh my God, Lalo? I ran out of groceries, Lalo, please . . .’

  Lally’s lips dance uncontrollably, his eyes flash across the room. ‘Oh – oh it’s you,’ he trembles.

  ‘How could you leave me so long,’ cries the lady. ‘Es que no queda nada Eulalio, hasta mi cama se lo han llevado ...’

  ‘Tell us in English!’ I yell toward the phone. Lally’s foot whips off the floor, dislodging me backwards onto the rug. He switches off the speaker.

  ‘Oh you poor souls,’ he says into the phone. ‘I left strict instructions with the network to keep up my charity visits while I was away . . .’ I go for the speaker button again, but he keeps me at bay with his leg. ‘Yes, I know, sweetheart – but mental illness can be cured, that’s why I contribute, that’s why I share myself with your cause – you and all the other beautiful ladies at the home . . .’

  I reach the far side of the phone table on my belly, but Lally quickly says goodbye, and slams down the phone. It rings again. He rips the cable from the wall. All breathing in the room gets canceled, along with platelet aggregation and whatever else your body does for kicks.

  Lally turns to face everybody. ‘I guess I have – something to share.’ I squint through a waterline of smoke, to the dark of the sofa where the ladies sit, riveted. Their knees stick tight together. ‘Some time ago, I decided to share my resources with the less fortunate.’

  ‘Amen,’ says the pastor softly.

  Lally’s face falls. ‘I surprised myself – I’d been so ambitious, so wrapped up in Me. Then I became involved with real people – real problems.’ He pauses to dab a finger at the corner of his eye. ‘The voice you just heard is one of my ladies – one of my Sunshine Souls.’

  ‘Wow, she sounded so together,’ says Leona.

  ‘Shhh, Loni, God,’ says George.

  ‘Tragic, isn’t it?’ says Lally. ‘Confined through no fault of her own. They all are.’

  ‘Bull-shit,’ I say.

  ‘Vernon Gregory, that’s enough,’ says Mom.

  ‘Were you – supporting them?’ asks George.

  Lally sighs. ‘Maybe things’d be better if I was – there are just so many wretched lives to care for. And I have so little to give . . .’

  ‘No, son,’ scalds the pastor, ‘you’re giving the greatest gift of all – Christian love.’

  Lally shrugs helplessly. ‘If you see me a little short of cash – you now know why. I just feel so guilty having anything at all.’ His eyes crawl over the sofa, snuggling into the ladies’ pouts, sliding down their weeping lashes, before collapsing on the floor. He shakes his head. ‘I guess the real tragedy is – they now know where I’m staying.’

  It takes a full second for Spooked Deer to take hold of Mom. She twitches. ‘Well – why is that tragic?’

  He flicks a glossy eye at me, sighs. ‘The home’s strictest rule is non-disclosure of carers’ identities. If they found out about this, I could be prevented from giving in future. I don’t know if I could survive a month without visiting my special girls. It means – I’ll have to move along.’

  There’s a stunned silence. Then my ole lady implodes. ‘Well God, Lally, no, I mean – no, God ...’

  ‘I’m sorry, Doris. This is bigger than the two of us.’

  ‘But we can disconnect the phone, change the number . . . Lalito? You can’t walk out after this whole month of bliss.’

  ‘Week of bliss,’ corrects Lally. ‘I’m sorry. Maybe if Vernon hadn’t called the home, maybe if he didn’t harbor such a grudge – but no. Things’ll only get more challenging after I call the sheriff.’

  ‘Shoot,’ says George, ‘I’d call him myself if he wasn’t tied up at the Barn meeting.’

  Trickles then torrents of blood and vein soak through the bottom of Mom’s legs, her brownest organs sweat through her pores. In the end just these pleading eyes poke up, the eyes of a wellkicked dog. Squished Kitten even.

  Leona watches her quiver become a sob, then turns to Lally. ‘There’s space at my place.’

  ‘My God,’ he says. ‘The pure charity of this town . . .’

  Mom’s eyes pop. ‘Well, but, but, the home might find you there, as well – that woman, she could just as easy find you at Leona’s as here . . .’

  ‘I’m unlisted,’ says Leona with a shrug. ‘I have call-screening and closed-circuit security.’

  Mom’s eyes fall to the tan-line where her wedding ring once sat. ‘Well but Vernon could just as easily give that number to the patients, you saw his behavior – couldn’t you, Vernon, just give Leona’s number to the home . . .?’

  ‘Ma, the guy’s a goddam psycho, I swear to God.’

  ‘Well see? He could call them right now, see his attitude? I think Lally and I should take a room at the Seldome for a while . . . Lalito? And do all those other things you want to do, around town . . .?’

  ‘Tch, the Seldome’s full.’

  ‘Well but they’d always find space for me, I mean, I was married at the Seldome.’

  Leona picks her bag off the sofa and fishes in it for her keys. ‘Offer’s open.’

  My ole lady’s already halfway across the room. ‘What’s the Seldome’s number?’

  Lally reaches out to stop her. ‘Doris – that’s not all.’ He fumbles in his shirt pocket and pulls out two crumpled joints. ‘Vernon didn’t do such a good job hiding these.’

  ‘Cigarettes?’ asks Mom.

  ‘Illegal drugs. You’ll understand now why I can’t be associated with the boy.’ He throws the spliffs scornfully onto the coffee table, leaning past me to whisper, ‘Thanks for the story.’ r />
  In the background you hear Leona’s car keys drop into George’s lap. ‘I guess I’ll ride with Lally. Take the Eldorado when you’re ready – it’ll need some gas.’

  ‘We have a spare room,’ says Betty. ‘We haven’t used Myron’s studio since he died.’

  Lally and Leona clack out through the screen into a dirty afternoon. A promise of rain on dust puffs through the door behind them. To Mom I know it smells of their sex.

  ‘I’ll be back for my stuff,’ calls Lally. Mom’s skin has all melted together. Her face drips down her arms onto her lap.

  I run a step after him. ‘How’d you know it said Gutierrez on the card, motherfucker? How’d you know it said Ledesma Gutierrez, when you didn’t even look at the card?’ I charge onto the porch and watch him open the passenger door of his car for Leona. Then you see the Lechugas’ drapes twitch open a crack. Leona flaps a little wave towards it, from behind her back. The drapes close.

  I’m a kid whose best friend took a gun into his mouth and blew off his hair, whose classmates are dead, who’s being blamed for it all, who just broke his mama’s heart – and as I drag myself inside under the weight of these slabs of moldy truth, into my dark, brown ole life – another learning flutters down to perch on top. A learning like a joke, that kicks the last breath from my system. The Lechugas’ drapes. It’s how Mom’s so-called friends coordinate their uncannily timed assaults on my home. They still have a hotline to Nancie Lechuga’s.

  eleven

  I stand on the porch this Sunday evening and try to force Mexico to appear in front of me. I tried it all day from the living-room window, but it didn’t work. By this time tonight I imagined cactus, fiestas, and salty breath. The howls of men in the back of whose lives lurked women called Maria. Instead there’s a house like Mrs Porter’s across the street, a willow like the Lechugas’ and a pumpjack next door, dressed as a mantis; pump, pump, pump. Vernon Gridlock Little.

  ‘Lord God in heaven please let me have a side-by-side, let me open my eyes and it be there . . .’

  Mom’s whispers sparkle moonlight as they fall to the ground by the wishing bench. Then Kurt barks from Mrs Porter’s yard. Kurt is in trouble with Mrs Porter. He spent all day on the wrong side of the fence from the Hoovers’ sausage sizzle, and eventually destroyed Mrs Porter’s sofa out of frustration. Fucken Kurt, boy. His barks cover the creaking of planks as I step off the porch. It’s a well-upholstered barking circuit tonight, on account of the Bar-B-Chew Barn hayride. A hayride, gimme a break. We don’t even have fucken hay around here, they probably had to buy it on the web or something. But no, now it’s the traditional Martirio Hayride.