The Royal Family (97 page)

I didn’t hear how Mrs. King met her doom.

Well,
Henry,
she—

It was a
double mastectomy,
Henry, so could you please be more sensitive?

I guess I could try.

Getting back to that Miramar cream . . .

So it’s good for wrinkles? inquired Mrs. Myers with intense interest.

It’s the best. It’s an anti-ageing cream, really. It actually dissolves all your wrinkles.

She
should talk! whispered Mrs. Myers. Just look at the old bag!

Sighing, Tyler stepped in between them. —How much does it cost, Mrs. Simms?

Well, it’s three hundred dollars for two months’ worth. It’s three bottles, one red, one silver and one black.

And you have to use them all? Mrs. Myers put in. I really don’t see why you should have to use them
all.

First you’re supposed to apply the black. If you don’t, there’s no guarantee. That one burns the most. Then you scrub, rinse and dollop on the silver. You really have to use a lot of silver. I always run out of that one first. Then you wait one minute and go for the red. You know how I remember all that? Because black, silver and red were my high school football team’s colors.

Well, isn’t that an interesting coincidence? sighed Mrs. Tyler.

Yes it is. It truly is. And the supply lasts me about two months. As I said, it’s three hundred dollars. But that’s only if you have a coupon . . .

Almost beside himself with boredom, anxiety and distress, Tyler took Mrs. Myers back into the kitchen and seized her hand.

You creature! laughed Mrs. Myers roughly. You just like the holding hands!

And the kissing.

And the
rubbing.

And everything after that, he sunnily replied, thinking: Why, Stella Myers, you don’t know what to do with your life, either. (What do I want to do with the rest of my life? Get to a point where I can stop asking that question. But I actually know. I want to be with my Queen.)

You creature, she laughed. I already called you a creature.
Stop that!

From the living room, Mrs. Simms peered in at them.

Tyler smiled blandly.

Stop
putting your hand on women’s butts! Mrs. Myers said loudly.

Where’s Henry? called Mrs. Tyler.

Mrs. Simms glared at Tyler.

I know I shouldn’t, said Tyler thoughtfully, but it just feels so good.

Suddenly, Mrs. Myers laughed and squeezed his hand.

Henry, his mother whispered as he was leaving, it would be such a waste to me if you just holed up and—

That’s nice of you to say, Mom.

How’s business?

Oh, not so good. But I—

There’s just so much more
to
you than that.

Than what? I’ve got to go, Mom. Say hello to John for me . . .

What size is she? said the saleslady.

Eighty-five slash S, said Tyler, believing the Queen to be the same size as Irene.

That’s not an American size. That’s a foreign size. Oh, okay. I know. And would you like a panty with that?

Oh, I suppose.

With the garter? I recommend the garter.

That’s extra, I take it.

Yes it is, sir.

You know what a Marxist would say about that?

Excuse me, sir?

He’d say,
that’s no accident.

Sir, do you want the garter or don’t you?

She’s just like Domino, he told himself. Finally he nodded, anxious that he might not have enough cash.

And you’ll want a robe with that, too, won’t you?

No, I don’t believe I do.

She might be disappointed, the woman insinuated in a faraway childlike voice. It’s really not much of a gift, what’s in this cute little bag so far.

Yeah, he said, paying in five dollar bills. I’m so sorry you’re disappointed.

A lady from a personnel office called and wanted him to screen somebody before she fired him. She was hoping to find evidence of illegal drug use. She wanted Tyler to obtain his medical record.

And we need a hard copy for verification purposes, the lady said.

Tyler rubbed his eyes, gazing out at the fog, cleared his throat, and said: My assumption would be, if I’m looking up medical information, I’m picking it up off insurance company databases. So I won’t be able to get original hard copy, ma’am. But I can print out whatever I catch, if that makes you feel better.

It just has to be hard copy. That’s all. That’s our policy.

Sure. Do you have his social?

His what?

His social disease, ma’am.

Excuse me?

His social security number.

I thought you could obtain all that information, the lady said.

Oh, I can, but I’m trying to save you money. It’ll be one less computer search for you, you see.

Well, isn’t it illegal for me to give out a social security number?

Ma’am, it’s just as illegal for me to snoop in somebody’s medical records. And it’s never a good idea to talk about illegal things on the telephone, get it? Are you tape recording this call?

That’s irrelevant.

Oh, it is, huh? I get it.

Mr. Tyler, I’m not sure I like the direction this conversation is taking.

Aren’t you ashamed? he said. Don’t you feel just the littlest bit hypocritical?

I
beg
your pardon! the lady said coldly.

You want me to do your dirty work and incur the risk and you won’t even tell me whether you tape record your phone calls. You’re like some john in the Tenderloin wanting to fuck a desperate whore up her bleeding ass and not even use a rubber . . .

I was referred to you, Mr. Tyler. I can see now that the referral was a mistake. Goodbye.

We aim to please, he said, but she’d already hung up.

Danny Smooth got a collect call from Strawberry, said the Queen. Domino, Henry, go an’ get Justin from the hospital They won’t let him out unless he gets a ride home. Strawberry she stayin’ down there with him an’ she wanna come home now, too . . .

Aw, come on, Maj, whined the blonde. Tomorrow’s my thirty-second birthday and I was already celebrating. That’s not a party kind of thing to do.

Justin he ain’t been havin’ no party either, girl, said the Queen sharply. Now go get him.

Maj, I—

Oh, quit pissin’ in my ear and tellin’ me it’s rainin’, said the Queen.

And so they drove to San Francisco General Hospital where the tall man shared a room with an O.G.
*
who’d been shot in the stomach. The O.G. was saying: So anytime you wanna split on that bitch an’ come join my nation, I’ll bring you right in, know what I’m sayin’?

Hey, I appreciate that, the tall man said.

I mean, what you got right now? You got this scuzzy white bitch over there, an’ I bet you don’t even got no car. Don’t you want a real lady an’ a car? Hey, listen up, Justin.
Send the white bitch outside. Send her out. Go on, bitch, get the
fuck
out of this black man’s room.

Outside, Strawberry, said the tall man

Justin, I—

I said
outside,
you stinkin’ bitch.

That’s right, Justin, that’s right. You tell ’em! Now get on them crutches an’ come over here. Yeah. That’s right. Bend over my bed. And kinda pull the curtain around us so . . . Yeah. Now listen, I’m not playin’ you when I say this. You wanna ex that bitch who been keepin’ you down?

The tall man swallowed hard. —No, he said.

I’m not talkin’ about that silly piece of white trash. She’s not
oppressin’
you; she’s just
encumberin’
you. I know you can bump her off. I wouldn’t never insult you, Justin, by offerin’ my help there. No, I’m talkin’ about that Queen bitch. I don’t mind a little head to head with that bitch.

No, the tall man said.

I don’t approve of you, but you got a lot of guts. I respect you. A little
drive-by, roll-by, tooty-shooty,
hear what I’m sayin’? A black man, a brother, shouldn’t
never
be the slave of no bitch.

Justin said: Awright, my brother, good to talk to you, okay?

Hey, baby, be cool, okay? croaked the older man.

Justin Soames, your ride is here, said the nurse.

The tall man hobbled downstairs, ignoring Strawberry, who hurried after him.

You holding on, Justin? Tyler said. Beside him, Domino picked at her fingernails.

Uh huh, said the tall man. I don’t feel nothin’.

Hey,
Dom,
hey,
Henry, said Strawberry a little too eagerly. We sure appreciate this . . .

Well, aren’t you just the prettiest berry in the whole damned patch, said Tyler with a cornball smile.

Cut it out! giggled Strawberry. Stop touchin’ me, homes!

Justin turned around, scratching his bearded lips, and said: If my old lady was to talk to
me
like that, I’d slap the shit out of her. I’m
talkin’
to you.

Oh, quit bossing her around, said Domino.

Who the fuck you think you are? and the tall man raised one crutch as if to strike her, too. She slunk back.

What a lovely, lovely reunion, chuckled Tyler, narrowing his eyes. Strawberry, don’t you think they ought to get married?

Strawberry was silent.

Well. Guess I’m the one who has to carry on all the conversation around here. Justin, you got any stuff?

Had me some pretty good morphine.

Morphine’s the best, laughed Domino nervously, still watching the tall man’s crutch. Tyler was immensely saddened to see her fear. It was as if she, too, now acknowledged that the Queen’s world must soon end, at which time her erstwhile clan of brothers and sisters would again scatter to the darkness, becoming predators who preyed upon each other. —And you know what else? she babbled on. That fuckin’ lithium. What the fuck do they use it for? For fuckin’ depression or schizophrenia or what the
fuck.
It’s better than
fuck.
And—and—and . . .

What’s
she
on? sneered the tall man. Meth? Shit, I didn’t know she could even score a dime bag of goddamn boogie weed without me. Where’s that faggoty car at?

Shaking his head, Tyler drove them back among the Tenderloin’s striped and tanned and glowing building-rectangles all stacked together like playing cards where on all sides was proclaimed the gospel of
HOTELS—MOVIES—XXX
except where it said
LIQUORS
or
THUNDER—LIQUOR—BEER—WINE—ATM CARD
, and the tall man smiled sallowly, warmed by vagrant beams of barroom light exuded from rows of Old Crow bourbon bottles behind ever so many counters, liquid glowing as yellowly as the slanted stacks of oranges and lemons in the produce markets of Mission Street, and through his rearview mirror Tyler saw the tall man begin to lick his lips.

Back in Canaan again, yessir, Tyler said. Back in the land of Cain.

Domino, wearied almost to death of Tyler, whom she watched steadily driving with his grey hands almost rosy thanks to reflected light while his windshield wipers fended off the world, and in equal parts wearied of Strawberry and the tall man because she thought she knew them so well as to preclude any future novelty or even change, tried to imagine herself somewhere else, as she usually did when, for instance, she was naked and on top of or beneath some strange man. At those times she never pretended that she was
with
anybody special or kind; all that she wanted was to curl safe in some recess which she could no longer even visualize, maybe one of those mellow bars with black leather seats where the patrons smoke cigars and drink single malt Scotch out of glasses not much larger than the ampoules of precious drugs, someplace where the tall man wouldn’t threaten her and Tyler couldn’t play his stupid games and Strawberry . . . Her brothers and sisters, once close enough for her to touch, were rising up into distant and malignant pillars of night.

Apprised of almost all the intimate characteristics of Strawberry which it is possible for one person to learn about another, Domino was sure that she knew her in her unapproachable soul. She knew what Strawberry’s breath smelled like during her period, and she knew every dimple of her flabby buttocks. She knew the slow, high, Japanese sounding moans which Strawberry uttered whenever she was making love with the tall man, whose own cries were deep metallic monotones like windgusts jetting low between the still skyscrapers of the financial district at dawn. She also knew the moans which Strawberry made when she was with other men, her trick moans, Domino called them, which sounded equally plausible and very well might have been equally pleasurable for Strawberry but which were emitted in a lower key, almost approaching the tall man’s cries. Another of Strawberry’s peculiarities was that her moans never ever coincided with those of whatever man was inside her, but alternated with them like echoes, as if Strawberry were faking them or needed to go her own way or simply experienced joy between instead of during thrusts. Domino had watchdogged Strawberry when customers were iffy; she’d lived with her, double- and triple-dating with her, and so when it came to Strawberry the blonde considered herself a woman of experience. And, like most experiences, this one nauseated her. She longed to forget everything she knew about Strawberry. She hated the tall man and Tyler even when she needed and even loved them. Like the crazy whore, who took shelter in her craziness, and the false Irene, who hid in self-stupefaction, Domino felt embarrassed and revolted by the world around her. Longing to be anywhere but here, she licked her lips and thought about heroin, crack, Sapphire’s clitoris . . .