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Brother Bob got on his usual hobbyhorse, determined to ride
gays into the ground if he could. He spoke forcefully about the
perversions, about the way they destroyed life for real people,
about the way they flaunted themselves and ensnared children.
And would you act like that? asked a small new voice inside
him. If you let him have you, do what men do with other men? Nick
became aware he was listening to that voice describe the pleasures
he could have which had nothing to do with perversions,
destroying real people, or seducing children and not paying
attention to the sermon when he saw the rest of the congregation
stood up for the invitation.
Tempted to go forward and throw himself at the base of the
altar weeping over his sins, he mumbled through the song and
waited out the recessional. It wouldn t do him any good.
 You ll be joining us for dinner, won t you, son? Mr. Fleming
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asked.
Nick nodded without really thinking. He caught himself driving
out of town on YY, turned around at the old drive-in restaurant,
and headed out east of town on J Highway.
He moved through the day like a sleepwalker. All day, the
carnival pulled at him, but he refused. Three times, he realized he
was walking to the car to go back, when he d only meant to go to
the bathroom or leave the front room. He wasn t going back. He
wouldn t ever see the man again. He ate the large dinner Mrs.
Fleming made, not really tasting it.
His head wasn t in the game of croquet and Len, Lisa s little
brother, sent his blue ball spinning into the lilac bushes before
Nick could realize he was even in peril. After the prickly task of
retrieving it from amid the thistle underneath the twiggy bush, he
sat on the porch swing with Lisa. She curled into his side. He put
an arm around her, then ignored her, thinking only of Torturo and
the taste of the cooked meat in his mouth.
 Your head s been a million miles away all day, honey, she
said, jerking his attention back to broad daylight and Sunday
afternoon.
Nick nodded. An idea struck him for how to get rid of the
disturbing pull completely.  Lisa, what do you think of getting
married tomorrow? We can just go down to the courthouse and
have a judge do it.
She shook her head.  Tomorrow s a holiday, Nick. Besides,
Mom has her heart set on a big church wedding. But you re sweet
to try to surprise me. She pecked his cheek.
He looked at her, having trouble breathing. His lies crowded in
on him, choking his breath away, making him want to spill his guts
and at the same time never speak again.
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 Lisa, I  He couldn t continue. He couldn t destroy her
sweet innocence with truth.  We ll do it Mom s way then, he
finished lamely. He kissed her cheek, dry and passionless, a
change from the sweet kisses he d given her the day before. He
ignored her puzzled, hurt look.  I d better go home and change for
church.
Lisa nodded and brushed at the bit of gravy he d gotten on his
shirt at dinner.  Soak that or it ll never come out, honey. She
sighed, letting her hand rest on his shirtfront.  If tomorrow weren t
a holiday, I d be taking care of it.
 I will. Lisa, I wouldn t make you do laundry before we re
married. He hugged her, the feel of her slim soft body in his arms
sparking no reaction. He went home and changed clothes.
Evening church was a blur. His head was back in the
Phantasmagoria until he had no idea what the sermon was about.
Instead, he saw over and over the round tines of the barbecue fork
going into Torturo s cock. He wrenched his thoughts away, but
even the hymns sounded dirty. He felt incredibly unclean.
He repeated Phillipians 4:8 to himself, under his breath.
 Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things
are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure,
whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report;
if there be any virtue and if there be any praise, think on these
things.
Lisa looked at him funny for whispering to himself. He walked
her out to her dad s car and then went home himself. He sat cross-
legged in the middle of his front room floor repeating the verse,
trying to drown out the faint music of the carousel that drifted in.
It didn t help. He went to bed early, putting in his earplugs.
On Monday, he managed not to think too much as the crazed
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Labor Day shoppers, lured by 0.9% interest for twelve months and
a five hundred dollar rebate, asked him question after question
about the cars on the lot.
At lunchtime, he glanced up and saw Torturo and his bicycle
leaning against the light post across the street. He pretended to be
busy figuring out his new computer. When he looked up again,
Torturo gave him a sexy wink, a wicked grin and then mounted his
bike and rode off.
Nick slipped out to the Wagon Wheel for lunch, needing
comfort food. He heard a familiar rolling laugh from the cash
register as his shrimp arrived. Torturo stood there, flirting with the
girl behind the register. When he looked up again, it was only Mr.
Sevy, who did crop dusting.
He went to his uncle and said something wasn t agreeing with
him from yesterday and asked for the rest of the afternoon off,
agreeing to work a full day on Saturday. It wasn t totally a lie. He
felt not at all well.
Nick drove home, slowly, carefully 71 was not the best paved
highway in the state and he didn t need to be bounced about. An
unusual number of emergency vehicles seemed to be going the
other way. He pulled off as an ambulance passed him, probably
heading up to Research at Belton. That meant the patient was too
injured to go to Cass Memorial, which was seven miles closer.
He said a small prayer as it turned off its siren, indicating the
patient had died. He drove on. Despite his caution, he missed his
turn and ended up in the parking area for the Phantasmagoria.
Feeling oddly disconnected and outside of himself, he let his
feet carry him along the Midway. The suggestive little voice in his
head said he really needed to catch the last Ten-in-One Show. He
paid his three dollars and sat down in the middle of the tent, hoping
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the last-day crowd would cover him. No one seemed to notice him.
Torturo and the twins saw him, though, and all three of them
flirted outrageously with him. He sat for a while after the show
ended, until the roustabouts started removing the benches. The
jarred babies had already been packed up.
He wandered out on the Midway and saw the rides were shut
down and the booths were being dismantled. Roustabouts and
clowns with no costumes, but still in makeup, lowered booth sides
and parts of rides, packed away guns and rubber ducks, stuffed
animals and baseballs. Nick watched for a few minutes as they
dismantled the Ferris wheel, all the men moving together like a
machine to take it down. Torturo s piercing booth still stood, but
most of the stuff was already packed in the shipping containers and
the tables were folded. It was ready to be struck and loaded.
Torturo lounged in the work chair, drinking what looked like iced
tea.
 Hello, Nicholas, he said when Nick peered in.  Back for
another taste? We missed you yesterday.
Nick sputtered, but his feet carried him in anyway. Surely he
didn t mean to be standing quite so close, or leaning in near
enough to smell Torturo s unique scent of aftershave, sweat, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]