Freaks and Revelations (16 page)

1979

FIVE MONTHS BEFORE

LOS ANGELES COUNTY

“Coco LaMere is
not
your real name.” I poke him in the ribs as I say it. I tease him relentlessly these days. We’ve been hanging out for a while. He’s the kid I first saw on the bench.

“Bitch, please, you don’t know me,” he tosses back, takes a huge bite of his second Astro Burger, everything on it. Where he puts it all, I don’t know, he’s the skinniest boy I’ve ever seen. And the cutest, with that dark curly hair and exotic face. I like him, more than just a little.

“This name goes back generations.” He says it with his mouth full.

“Uh-huh, and your mama’s working Sunset.”

“At least she can get work. More than I can say for your ugly mama.” Car doors slam and we both turn to see a carload of skinheads piling out of an old station wagon.

“Oh well,” Coco says, rolling his eyes. “There goes the neighborhood.”

“Don’t worry. They’re going to Oki Dogs,” I say.

“Oh, too bad. The tall one’s sexy,” Coco says.

“If you like Neo-Nazis.”

“I like the tattoos.”

“You would.”

“Do you think they do it on their dicks?”

“Ew. Ow.”

*   *   *

“Check that out,” Coco says, and nods toward the shadow of a guy peeking out at us from inside a chocolate-colored Bentley. We’re lounging on my bench, across from where Jimmy dropped me off. I chose it to remind myself not to be a dumbass.

“No way,” I say. “He wants you.” The guy honks lightly.

“I don’t think so, sweetie. Definitely a J-man.” Coco gives a little push. I look again. Why not? It’s early, I’m not too tired. Besides, you never know. This might be the sugar daddy I’m always looking for. He drives a Bentley, doesn’t he?

I ease off the bench, adjust my pants, touch my hair.

“You’re so effin’ sexy,” Coco says and winks. I smile down at him, feeling that little tingle. We look good together. He squeezes my hand and whispers, “So, later? Want to hang out? You’ll be rich then, you can buy us dinner.”

I nod and wish the Bentley guy wasn’t there so I could give him a little kiss. “Wish me luck, babe,” I say and step into the street, lean into the Bentley. Still thinking about Coco, I put my head down and peek up through my lashes. The guy smiles at me.

“Pretty eyes,” he says. He’s older, maybe fifty, sixty.

“Thanks.”

“Shall we?”

“For sure.”

He reaches to open the door. “Come on in.”

I do. He’s skinny—thank God, I won’t go with fat guys. We turn up Curse-On and he finds a place to pull over.

“How much?” he asks.

“Thirty, I’ll use my hand. Fifty, you get both.”

“Both, and a twenty-dollar tip if I can see you naked.”

I consider it. As a rule, I never get completely undressed, but dinner would be amazing and I do know how to roll my pants down so I can run, if I have to. Besides, I could skip work for the night and spend the time with Coco.

“All right,” I say, “but you can’t finish while I’m there. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I mean that.”

“Fine.”

He takes way longer than I expect. I check around to see where his wallet is, if maybe I can snatch it and run. In that one second, when I’m off guard, he grabs my head and holds it down. I fight back, hitting at him and trying to bite. I scratch the inside of his thigh, everything—but it’s too late. He yanks me up by my hair, then slaps me. His face is red and he’s breathing hard. I hold out one hand and try to get my pants up with the other. He gives me a bill.

“That’s only twenty!”

“Get out of my car.”

“Where’s my money, fuckface, you said okay!”

Without any warning, he shoves, hard, and I tumble out the door, onto my hands and knees, bare butt in the air. He laughs. I whip around and catch his eyes; this enrages him. I have to duck as the door slams back, just missing my head. The asshole drives away, going home to a wife, I know this—I saw the ring. Maybe even kids. I wonder if he has boys. If one of them’s fourteen.

For the briefest second, I remember Paul crying, my uncle’s mouth tightening, my surprise when that very first trick couldn’t look at me. I scoot up onto the sidewalk, pull up my pants, look around, take inventory. At least nobody saw. But shit, the knee’s torn on my jeans and there’s blood on my white shirt. I can’t see Coco like this.

What is Davy doing right now?
I wonder.

I should’ve paid attention.

Where’s Marianne? Would she hate me if she knew?

Do any of them even miss me?

I shake my head, stand up. I need to take care of myself now and stop thinking stupid thoughts.

I see the kid as I cross the street back to the park to get a change of clothes. He’s so scared and fresh I can’t look at him.

“Excuse me?” he whispers, as I pass. “Could you—” He sees my torn clothes and bloody arms and gasps.

“What?” I ask, not nicely. He’s a rich little kid, I can tell right off—expensive clothes,
great
haircut. He immediately bursts into tears, putting his hands up to hide his face. I want to walk past him, but think of Tommy helping me the night after my mother and the cop. If I don’t stop, I’m my father who turned away, my brother who didn’t want me, my mother who slapped my face.

“Okay. What’s your name?” I demand.

“Tim. Timmy.” He’s soft like a puppy.

“How old are you?” I say.

“Almost twelve.”

“Go home,” I say.

“I can’t.” He cries again.

I see it in his eyes. He’s right, whatever happened to him there, he can’t go back. “At least go wash your face, okay? You got snot all over.” I point down the street toward Highland. “Shell station, on the corner. Ask for the key, pretend your dad’s in the car. You got money?”

He pulls out a fistful of twenties. I slap his hand back.

“Don’t do that. Don’t show people your money.” I shake my head. “You gotta wise up, little dude, or you’ll be dead by morning.”

“Okay, okay, I will.” He looks at me like I’m God or something.

“Buy some food, hear? Then find a place in the park you can sleep. Make sure nobody can sneak up on you. Don’t talk to anybody, okay? Look me up tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He almost smiles. “Thank you.” He leans in like I’m going to hug him or something but I turn away. I’m dirty and pissed off and my favorite shirt is torn and now I’ve got to get ready to go to work.

1980

THREE MONTHS BEFORE

LOS ANGELES COUNTY

I don’t know what it is about Punk at our school now; suddenly it’s cool and everywhere and Evelyn Anderson wants to hang out. She sidles up to me at lunch. She lets me cop a feel in the field at lunch. She even follows me out after school when Stace comes to pick me up.

“A Barbie, Doug?” Rosie says, the next day. “Give me a break. What’s the hell’s wrong with you?”

“You see those tits?” I snap back.

“You’ll be sorry, dude,” she says. I don’t think so. I think it’s fine if I hang out with a Barbie at school. Stacie has her own friends. Besides, I’m back at home now, most of the time. Either that or my parents will make me move out completely, which is not possible until I can finish school and get a job.

Saturday, Stace and Rosie and I head down to Wong’s East to see a new band we’ve been hearing about. Apparently, everybody else in L.A. has heard about them too—the place is packed, and the line goes down the street. Carlos appears right behind us, just before we get to the door. Carlos is the old boyfriend, slick and Latin and all Punked out. He slips his arm around Rosie and she likes it.

“Did you know he’d be here?” I ask Stacie as we go in.

“Got a problem with that?”

“Hell, I don’t care what you do.”

“Good.” She leaves me and goes right over to talk to him and Rosie. They’re all laughing together and rubbing up against each other and I head out back to snort some shit with some guy I meet. I don’t even know what it is. I score a bottle from the same guy. I drink and rub up on girls and then go to skank. Stacie doesn’t seem to notice. Rosie’s having a great time. Everybody is, it seems, but me. The band’s not even that good. Whatever it is I snorted kicks off a major headache. I look for a way to get home, but can’t find anybody that goes my way. I have to go with Stacie.

I finally locate her outside in the back alley, with a whole group of chicks her own age, Rosie, and the Latin asshole.

“Come on. I wanna split.”

“Then split,” Stacie says. “What’s stopping you?”

Carlos claps me on the shoulder. “Patience,
mi amigo
,” he says, like we know each other. “Let the ladies finish talking.”

I want to hit him. But my skull feels like it’s cracking open so I just go lean against the wall until Stacie walks by and beckons me to follow. We pile in her car, Carlos and Rosie in the backseat. I put in the Dead Kennedys and try to forget the headache, but by the time we drop Rosie off, I’m in serious pain.

“Denny’s?” Rosie asks.

“Good idea, I’m starved,” says Carlos.

“Drop me at home, okay?” I don’t even care anymore if she wants to hang out with him.

“Why? You meeting your little cheerleader?” Stacie says and Carlos laughs. She glances back. “He thinks I don’t know.”

My head’s bursting. “Shut up, you don’t know shit.”

She pulls over to the side of the road. “Why don’t you just get out, huh? Go see Barbie. I’m tired of playing with kids.”

“Stace—”

“Get out of my car.”

“Fine. Whatever.” I get out and go to slam the door, but Carlos catches it and slips inside the front. I hear them laughing as she drives away. I stand alone in the middle of the street. I’m seven blocks from my parents’ home. The neighborhood is completely still. I start to walk.

This whole stupid world’s pissing me off.

I kick at a mailbox, one of those ones on wood posts, with a metal top. It hurts my foot, which makes me kick it again. It takes a couple of hard blows, but then it breaks, right in two, and clangs down on the concrete. The black iron dog on top snaps off. A light goes on in the house across the street. A door opens next door and a man’s voice cries out,
“What’s going on out there?”

I run at the next box and kick it until it falls. The one after is free-standing chain, and I miss, fall, hurt my hip on the curb. I cuss, as loud as I can. More doors are opening, more porch lights turning on. I take off down the street.

I feel better already.

Sirens sound. More lights flick on. Now I want somebody to go get my parents. I want my mother and father to see what I’m doing. I want them to know who their son really is. I want my dad to try and stop me.

The damage you do has to feel right.

You got to stand up for yourself.

You can’t let fucking faggot whores take over what belongs to you.

You have to fight for what you believe.

My rampage takes me down one street and up to the next, a cul-de-sac. The sirens get louder. Two cop cars pull up on either side of the corner yard where I now stand. Four cops pile out—three guys and a chick, guns drawn and pointed directly at me.

“Shoot me!” I yell, holding my hands up in the air. “Shoot me, motherfucker!”

People peek from their porches, peer through windows. Nobody knows what to do with me, not even the cops.

“Go ahead, shoot me!!”

“Get your hands up!”

“Down on the ground!”

They smell like the slam pit as they circle around, all of them yelling. The noise of them seeps in my head.

“Get down! Get down! Get down!” The cop that’s talking edges closer. His eyes dart back and forth and I wonder if he’ll shoot me. I think he probably will. I start to laugh and his eyes go dark. Suddenly I think of Rosie. What would happen to her, without me here to protect her? This is big. This needs consideration. I put my hands behind my head, legs out.

Two other cops rush me, knock me facedown and drag my arms back behind me. They haul me over and the next thing I know I’m on the sidewalk on my knees, hands in cuffs behind me. Something gets tied around the cuffs and one of the cops pulls it straight up so I’m bowing forward. My head almost touches the ground. My hip has gone on fire.

“Jeez, Mike, he’s just a kid,” the woman cop says. She puts her gun back in its holster, buckles it in. She’s not much bigger than Stacie, with dark hair pulled straight back.

“I don’t care, he’s on something. Keep back.”

She doesn’t. She comes in close, kneels down, and looks dead in my eyes. “What’s going on, dude?” she asks. “What is it?”

I give her my hardest glare but she doesn’t flinch. She looks up behind me. “Will you please loosen that up?”

“It could be PCP, Jo.”

“Yeah, and what’s he going to do? Huh? He can’t move and if he does, you got a gun pointing at his head.” She sits down beside me.

“What’s your name?”

“Fuck you.”

“Nice talk. I’m Jo Ann. What’s your name?” She touches the side of my face, brushing something away. I jerk my head away from her and the cop yanks my arms.

“Stop it, Mike!” she says. She takes my chin in her hand. I flinch at her touch. She doesn’t let go. “Tell me your name, dude.”

“Doug.”

“Good. Thanks. What’s wrong, Doug? What happened?”

“Why should I tell you anything?”

“Because I’m asking.”

“Why the fuck do you care?”

“I don’t know. You’re a kid. I like kids. How old are you, Doug?”

“Nineteen.”

“No you’re not.”

I don’t know why I tell her the truth. “Sixteen. Almost seventeen.”

She adjusts herself to block the other cops from being able to see my face. I focus on her eyes. She’s got nice eyes. Hazel brown.

“Sixteen’s a hard age to be.”

“No shit.”

“Tonight was pretty bad?”

“Every fucking night is bad.”

“But tonight, something worse?”

“It was shit,” I mutter. “A real fucking bad night.”

I can’t believe I’m talking to her. I try to adjust my body so my hip won’t hurt so much. I get my arms yanked.

“Watch out, Jo Ann!”

“Relax, would you?” Jo Ann calls back. She reaches behind and makes them let up. She has a sad smile on. “Girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” I tell her about Stacie and how my music’s not working for me anymore, how the bouncer last week got stabbed and the cops slammed me up against the wall, how my hip has a metal pin. Everything. It pours out. Like I have no control. She doesn’t interrupt. She invites me to sit down with her and makes the other cops help me do it. They keep their guns pointed at my head. She makes them take me home.

My mother cries with that stupid whimper sound of hers. My father stares into space. You’d think he’d go off, but he never does, not with cops. He’s not so tough with authority.

Jo Ann explains that I won’t be arrested, but a bill will be sent for damaged property. She tells my parents I need to get counseling, something to help me deal with stuff. My mother nods. My father gets up and walks out of the room. Jo Ann leaves and my mother fixes me something to eat. I can’t eat it. I can’t do anything. My hip hurts like crazy. I wonder if there are any painkillers in the house. Anything.