Vernon God Little

I limp back to the phones. I ain't sure Taylor will come along. In fact, if I'm really honest, I guess I feel she won't. She has a lunch date, and her life is all separate, and full of sunny-smelling skin and panty lace. I just have grisly fucken reality, uninvited, with its smell of escalator motors and blood, and whirrs and beeps that suck away your shine. Dreams are so damn perfect, but reality just always tugs the other way. The fact that our two lives will rub together for the time it takes to say hello doesn't automatically mean sparks will fly. The best you can probably expect is that her peachy-lace life gets smeared with booger-slime. It's enough to make you bawl. Specially because now I'm in the wrong frame of mind for it to happen. There's the learning, O Partner: that you're cursed when you realize true things, because then you can't act with the full confidence of dumbness anymore.

In the end I just piss myself off. I pack up my goddam philosophical activity set, and pull a quarter from my pocket. I toss it. It comes down heads, which means call her in Houston immediately. I pick up the phone, and punch in her number.

fifteen

'Hello?' The voice is liquid ass in panty elastic.

Taylor, hi – it's Vern.'

'Wait up, I'll get her,' says a girl. ' Tay! Taylor – it's Vern.'

'Who?' calls a voice in the background.

Then you hear giggles. I fucken hate that. Your chances with a girl fall sharply in the vicinity of giggles. Learning: never try to deal with more than one girl at a time.

She finally clatters onto the line. 'Tayla.'

'Uh – hi, it's Vern.'

'Vern?'

'Vern Little – remember me?'

'Vern Little? Like, gee…' As she speaks, you hear the other girl in quiet hysterics nearby.

'You might've seen me on the news, Vernon Gregory Little – from Martirio?'

'Like, I'm real sorry – I heard about the massacre and all, but I usually only, like, watch cable, you know?'

'Anal Intruder Channel,' squeals the other girl.

'Fuck off, Chrissie, God.'

'Uh – well, I'm the messy-haired dude, from outside the senior party that time – I kept back some stuff of yours…'

'Oh hey, Vern. I'm sorry

– you took care of me that night, like, boy, did I overdo it or what!'

'Hell, no big deal,' I say. In the background you hear her kick the other girl out of the room. Pause for giggles while she does it.

'Well it was really, like – anything could've happened to me, you know?' I push some spit around my mouth, imagine some things that could've happened to her. 'So how'd you get my number?' she asks.

'It's a long story – thing is, I'm coming over to Houston, I thought maybe we could grab a coffee or something.'

'Gee, Vern, I'm like, wow, you know? Maybe next time?'

'But, what about lunchtime, or something?'

'See, my cousin's coming over, and it's just like, whatever, a girl thing, you know? Anyway, it's real sweet of you to call…'

She utters the winding-up words, just like that. Then comes an awkward gap as she waits for the corresponding ending from me. A spike of horror makes me gamble.

' Taylor, listen – I just got out of jail, I'm on the run. I wanted to tell you some stuff before I disappear, you know?'

'Holy shit, like – what happened?

'I can't really talk on the phone.'

'God, but you seemed like, wow, you know, such a quiet guy.'

'Maybe not so quiet, as it turns out. Not so damn quiet anymore.'

'God, but you're only, like – fourteen, no?'

'Uh, seventeen actually, now, these days. So yeah, I guess I must've just snapped, against the injustice and all.'

'Oh my God...'

I stand at the phones, flick my eyes around the terminal, and wait for the bait to drop. I wait in the name of all the conclusive knowledge, collected throughout the history of the world, that says girls just can't resist bad boys. You know it, I know it. Everybody knows it, even if you ain't allowed to say it anymore.

'Vern, maybe I could, like – whatever, you know? I mean it's like, God. D'you know the Galleria in Houston?'

'Not a whole lot.'

'See, I have to be at Victoria 's Secret around two – I could, like, catch you out front, on Westheimer or whatever.'

' Victoria

's Secret?' I trample my tongue.

She giggles. 'I know, it's so embarrassing – I'm supposed to be, like, underwear shopping, I can't believe I just invited you.'

'I'll wear shades.'

'Whatever,' she says, laughing. 'Are you, like – in a car?'

'I'll take a cab.'

'Whatever, look – there's like this inflatable octopus out front of the Galleria, some kind of promotion – I'll keep an eye out around quarter of two.'

See how things work? First I'm like a skidmark on her mouthpiece, and she wants to wind up the call. But see what happens now I'm in trouble. See the awesome power of trouble. Trouble fucken rocks.