Into the Beautiful North(54)

Carla ventured over and spent the night with him, their sleep asexual and melancholy. Even naked, he felt nothing for her—she was all ribs and butterfly tattoos. It was mostly about body heat.

She fancied his Hendrix banner, so he gave it to her.

How was he hanging with bikers and naked dope fiends? In San Francisco, he was learning to eat sushi and dating a ballet dancer. He went to art museums. But who was he kidding? The ballet dancer was over before Ma passed away. Driving home had been almost easy.

He kept the windows open to air the place out. This stinking duplex was as depressing as anything he could imagine. He’d choked on its hot air all through junior high and high school. He was going to get out of here, wasn’t that the plan? Some kind of success story. Anywhere but San Diego. San Die Go. Sandy Eggo. He’d played that Hendrix song over and over to his red-haired high school girlfriend, Rockie Lee. “Come back and buy this town,” Jimi sang, “and put it all in my shoe.” He hadn’t seen her in ten years.

Matt thought he’d get Ma out of this place somehow, before it was too late. He used to tell Rockie Lee that Hell was located in Clairemont. You died and drove into Ma’s neighborhood and just went in circles, from cul-de-sac to cul-de-sac, with those dead palm trees above your head, and you never found your way out. Another mission aborted.

He sat on the couch, staring at the TV.

Now what?

He drank another beer—Tecate.

He’d left his job in San Fran to get her cremated and her “cremains” scattered in the ocean. The man at the funeral home made human ashes sound like breakfast cereal.

He had driven down in his ’67 Mustang fastback, now parked beside Ma’s wasted minivan in the alley. He was too frozen to think. He was afraid—he was trapped in a bad story, where the Venus flytrap of Ma’s duplex somehow reached out and consumed him. Rod Serling stuff.

He ate Ma’s macaroni and drank her instant coffee and Tecate and slept on the couch. He just couldn’t bear to lie in his bed unless Carla was there with him. But in the morning, it was worse to wake up beside her.

When Ma’s phone started to ring, the cards he had handed out those years ago in Tres Camarones were the furthest thing from his thoughts.



He pulled into the parking lot in Ma’s minivan. This had to be the weirdest thing that had happened to him. Ever.

He got out of the van and said, “Nayeli?” but didn’t manage to get much more said because the three girls flew at him and threw their arms around him, crying out and squeezing and dragging him back and forth. He fell over against the van, but they didn’t let go as they rubbed him and hugged him.

He wasn’t all that thrilled with the grunge merchant with the big stick, but he was delighted to see the girls again. He thought: They are short.

He didn’t know what to do, so he took them home.

He couldn’t believe they still had his number! How unlikely was that? In his mind, they had remained gawky and silly teenyboppers. And now. Now! He looked at Nayeli, perched beside him. He glanced back at Yolo and Vampi. They were not gawksters anymore.

“Wow,” he kept saying. “Wow!”

“Ay, Mateo,” Nayeli sighed, shaking her head.

“But, like, wow!”

“Mateo, Mateo. ?Eres tremendo, Mateo!”

To Atómiko, the whole thing sounded demented and silly—he busied himself during the drive looking at the nice houses, the cars, and the shining 7-Eleven atop the hill. A man could steal a fortune around here. He was amazed that all the cars looked new. Maybe he’d boost one and drive back to the dump in style.

Matt prepared to apologize for how sad his ma’s place looked, but when they walked in, Atómiko whistled. He plopped on the couch and said, “Hey! You’ve got a remote!” He switched on the TV and said, “Got any beer?”

“Uh,” said Matt.

Nayeli cried, “Mateo! You house! Is a palace!”

“Beer in the fridge,” Matt said.

Atómiko pointed at Vampi.

“Get me a beer, will you, morra?”

She dutifully went to the kitchen and fetched him a can.

“What a pimp,” Yolo said.

She and Nayeli hugged Matt from either side. He put his arms across their shoulders. Their breasts pressed against his ribs. Whoa. Their heads smelled a little oily, though. That was semi-gnarly, right there.

“Would you like a shower?” he asked.

“Bubble bath!” Vampi said.

He had to go across the alley and get Mr. Bubble from Carla. She followed him back over to stare at the illegals. Vampi got into the bathroom and soaked for about an hour.

When she was done, Matt pulled a chair out of the kitchen and sat quietly, watching them watch MTV. Nayeli and Yolo kept casting glances his way and smiling. Vampi seemed mesmerized by the television. Atómiko had laid his pole on the floor in front of the couch.

He said, “I want pancakes.”

Nayeli winked.

Matt just watched.





Chapter Twenty-one



Tacho sat at a nasty little plywood table in a dull green room. The tabletop was splintery and gouged with initials and half words. It was charred in various places from cigarettes left burning. The walls of the room were cement blocks, and the floor was old linoleum. He noted the ugly industrial green of the tiles—they looked like they had skinny little off-white clouds swirling in them. His captors were not only stupid, they had bad taste.