Strays. Part 15

I tell her, "I don't want to be sweet and considerate, though. I want to climb up some vines onto your balcony and jump right into your bed."

"It'll be torture for you lying beside me tonight, right? You won't sleep a wink."

"I'll never sleep again."

"Okay, then. You can come over."

When I get next door in my underwear, she has the covers pulled up to her chin and she's grinning.

"Skinny legs," she says. "I love guys with skinny legs."

I unfold the quilt at the end of her bed, lie down, and pull it over me.

"Closer," she says.

I scoot over until I b.u.mp into her. It's such an amazing feeling.

"You know what I was just thinking?"

"Uh-uh."

"That the last thing my mother said to me after they won that money was, 'Wanda, you only live once.' And then she put on her sungla.s.ses and got in the motor home."

"The last thing my mother said to me was, 'Feed the cats.'"

I feel her turn away, grope for a Kleenex, and blow her nose. "Put your arm around me, okay?" she asks. "I'm cold."

When the phone rings, Wanda rolls over. "G.o.d," she mumbles, "who's that?'

I grope for my cell.

"Ted, get over here before Bob wakes up."

"Astin?"

"You know what? Never mind. Just meet me outside in five minutes."

"You know where I am?"

"Are you kidding? Where else would you go?"

I hit the red b.u.t.ton. I say, "I better get out of here. I'm not supposed to be out all night."

Wanda stretches. She's under the sheet; I'm not. I look around for my pants. "Did you sleep?" she asks.

"Will you get mad if I say yes?"

"Very funny. Do you want anything? I've got milk and cereal and bread and all that stuff."

I find one shoe. "No, I'm fine." I already think I can hear Astin's bike.

She props herself up on both elbows. "Call me, okay? I didn't mean to get you in trouble."

"I'll be all right if Bob's not up and around." I lean in and kiss her on the forehead. She pulls at the covers and turns over.

It's early and it's Sunday. A little kid is the only other person awake, and he's sitting on his porch waiting for the day to start. I remember doing that - roaming the house, looking in cupboards, stepping over animals, sneaking into my parents' bedroom to watch them sleep. I didn't hate them or love them. I just wanted them to wake up.

A minute or so later, Astin comes rumbling up. I take my helmet off the sissy bar, then climb on behind him. We're in the middle of a wide turn when he says, "Sorry about last night. I was out of line. Megan drives me crazy sometimes."

"Just tell me next time, okay?"

"Teddy, you hit me first. My side still hurts."

I lean forward so he'll hear me for sure. "Good."

He's going awful fast for just six blocks, but I still don't hold on to his jacket.

"Your lip okay? Did Wanda kiss it and make it better?"

"Like I'd tell you." And I slap the side of his helmet hard.

"You want me to hit you again? Just keep that s.h.i.t up."

We're home in two minutes. I help Astin put the tarp over the Harley, and we go in the back door. Tupac, who's lying at C.W.'s feet, doesn't bother to bark.

"Ever vigilant."

"He knows you, Teddy."

Barbara's at the sink, her long hair in a braid hanging outside her pink robe. "Where have you two been?" she asks.

Astin and I look at each other.

"Out," he says. "I'm teaching Teddy how to handle a chopper."

"Well, this is the last piece of bread," she says. "If you want toast, you're going to have to go back to the store."

C.W. starts to give the dog a potato chip and Barbara says, "Outside with that animal!"

"If we go now," Astin says, "can we take the Saturn this afternoon? I need to get stuff for my party. You only graduate once."

Barbara drops the rest of her toast in the garbage. "Do you have twenty dollars? It might need gas."

Astin wants to price steaks at Bristol Farms, and C.W. thinks we ought to have real, honest-to-G.o.d party hats and a banner. But first we stop at the ARCO station on Orange Grove.

Astin leans in and asks, "Got twenty bucks, Teddy? I'll pay you right back.

"Oh, bite me."

He starts pumping gas, and I ask, "You guys want something to drink?"

I don't have to say that twice. I walk in, score three cans and some jerky for Tupac, and start back toward the car. I'm wearing a sport coat that Wanda and I found on sale, and I like the way the c.o.ke cans make the pockets sag. It's when I stop looking at myself in the big gla.s.s door that I see him - Scott McIntyre. Sitting in his Mustang, which I'm glad to see looks a little worse for wear.

He's got his check register propped on the steering wheel, and he's frowning at it. If he sees me and if he gets out and starts something, we'll take care of him. Astin, C.W., and me. Me first, though.

It's a big station with a dozen of those pump islands. It'd be easy to just walk around him. Tack windward and eventually heave to. Take the low road. Slink away.

I walk right toward him. I come at him from the front. I stop by the open window. I say, "Hey, Scott."

He looks up. "Hey, man." He points to his checkbook. "Where's the money go, huh?"

"No kidding." I watch him add, then say, "Well, see you."

"Yeah."

It's either my new clothes or my new haircut, or he just doesn't care anymore.

I'm almost to the car when C.W. points out the window. "Look, Tupie, it's Ted. Oh, my G.o.d. What's that in his hand? Is it a treat? Is it a treat for the best dog in the world? I bet it is."

I climb in, break the jerky in pieces, and start feeding Tupac. Astin knocks on the window. "Don't get c.o.ke all over that upholstery!"

Then he drops the squeegee, grabs his receipt, and gets in. I hand him the cold, wet can as McIntyre's Mustang pulls out. Astin points. "Who's that, anyway?"

"Remember the football player I told you about, the one who wouldn't leave me alone? That was him."

"Scott McIntyre, the quarterback? Really? Let's follow him, and when he gets out of the car, we'll kick his a.s.s."

"He's just going to Kinko's."

"How do you know that?"

I point to my chest. "He's got this stupid name tag on. He's just a stupid guy with a stupid name tag."

"I could still hold him while you hit him."

I reach for my seat belt. "Nah, I'd rather go buy stuff for your party."

Los Angeles is great in the summer. Warm - okay, hot sometimes - but cool at night, even in my attic. Which I've got to myself now, and Barbara bought me a fan to replace the one Astin stole.

I love my job at the zoo. It's just twenty minutes on the Gold Line to Union Station, then fifteen more on a DASH bus. At six in the morning, the guys I work with and I are just about the only ones dashing anywhere. We're for sure the last to get off at the end of the line. Rodney's always wired on coffee and talking to his girlfriend; Jesse sleeps the whole time; Will and I talk about animals because he's nearly as into them as I am. I rethink my future about every ten minutes. One day it's lions and tigers; the next it's sled dogs in Alaska. They've even got an internship right here for grad students in zoology. But basically, I just don't know.

I like walking in through the EMPLOYEES ONLY door. I even like the locker room, which is totally different from the one at high school. n.o.body's snapping towels at me, for one thing. n.o.body's calling me names. The other guys talk about a movie they've seen or some girl they got to flirt with up by the reptile house. They plan things and ask if I feel like going along.

Then it's time to go to work. The zoo is really at its best in the morning. The animals seem more like themselves. Maybe they don't like being stared at, something I understand. I don't really like seeing them in cages, but I know that's not going to change for a long time, so my job is to make things as good as they can be. They shouldn't be hungry. They shouldn't be sick. Their pens and enclosures should be clean and safe.

I've already graduated from kid-with-a-broom-and-a-burlap-bag to delivery boy. Before we open for business, I like zipping around in my miniature truck with the flatbed that holds boxes of napkins and toilet paper and cases of Snapple one day and bigger boxes of horse meat for the tigers the next.

There's usually a keeper walking around with a chimp or sometimes a python, and always Larry the llama, who was born in the zoo and imprinted on Rusty, his trainer.

Before the day's over, though, I always see somebody who reminds me of my mom or dad, and I wonder what they'd think about what I'm doing. Mom would probably like it, and Dad? Man, who knows? I'm not making a lot of money, that's for sure.

This morning I'm sitting in the truck at the corner of Koala Street and Roo Lane when Larry the llama wanders by a few yards behind Rusty as usual. Larry looks like he always looks, which is a periscope on four legs. Today he stops and stares at me, so I stare back. He nods, so I nod.

"Hey, Teddy."

What the . . . I thought that was . . .

Then Sarah tugs at my official khaki shirt. "Didn't mean to scare you," she says.

"No, really, it's okay. I just didn't see you. I was thinking."

She pretends to look mad. "Any more of that, young man, and no dessert."

Sarah is nice; she works the cafe in the African sector. I give her rides in my little open-air truck all the time.

"Big weekend," she says, climbing in and bracing her long legs against the dash. "Protests, TV crews, movie stars, the whole nine yards."

"Those guys are right. Somebody should protest. If there's fifty million left in the budget, half of it shouldn't go to advertising the new elephant gra.s.sland. It should go for more gra.s.sland. People will want to see elephants being pretty much like they would be if they could be."

Sarah nods. She looks kind of sleepy. "Are you working Animals After Dark?"

"For sure. I love Animals After Dark. I get my very own flashlight. What about you?"

"Not this time. I have to look for a new apartment. My roommate used to bring home guys. Now she chants and burns incense."

"My friend Astin is looking."

"He's not living at Megan's anymore?"

I shake my head. "Yeah, but he says her mom is impossible. He's coming today; I got some pa.s.ses."

Sarah points and I pull into the shade. "Drop me here, okay? I've got to put some potato salad out in the sun for people who get on my nerves. 'Where are the bears?' she says, pretending to be a cranky mom. 'Why aren't the bears out here juggling four or five hoops so I can take their picture?'" She takes her head in both hands. "It's enough to drive a girl crazy." Then she pats my leg and hops out. "Just Astin today?"

"No, Megan for sure. C.W. and maybe Belle."

"Bring 'em by the Serengeti. I'll hook you guys up with some primo tuna salad."

I make my deliveries, then pull on some boots and go to work behind the scenes. Trainers are supposed to clean up where the animals sleep, but usually somebody like me does it instead. It's not too bad, and I like thinking about the antelope or the yak or the wildebeest coming back inside after a day of being stared at and finding everything clean and dry.

Then I wash up and go wait for my friends by the gift shop. Astin will be in his leather jacket, Megan in something short, C.W. in that linen shirt he just bought. The first thing he'll say is that Tupac looked so cute sleeping on my bed, but I shouldn't worry because he'd just had a bath and was almost dry.

I'll tell Megan I talked to Wanda, who says hi, and Megan will say that she'll absolutely call her this time because she misses Wanda like crazy. But she'll forget.

I've got my official khaki shirt on, so people stop and ask me things. A lot of times it's just where the bathrooms are, but other stuff too. And most of the time I know the answers: that baboon's behind is all red because it's mating season; the old lion's mane is falling out because he's got a fungus that we're treating; the flamingos' wings are clipped because otherwise they'd fly away.

I can kind of picture myself, taller and stronger, wearing scrubs with just a little blood on them because I had to operate on a paw or a hoof or even untangle an intestine.

Then I spot Astin, and I'm sixteen again, making seven-fifty an hour and driving a little truck. Oh, well.