The Boy’s a Freak
The heat is back up, and Zelda and Courtney are cranking out the mint mojito iced coffees. The secret of their popularity is the use of manufacturing cream, which is pretty high on the fat content. But no one really wants to know.
The lunch rush comes to a sudden stop, and Zelda gazes out at the parking lot. It’s one of those days when a lot of people have parked in the shady spots under the trees, even though they’re farther away. She raps her knuckles on the counter as she counts down, then shoots out her fingers as if she were saying “Ta-dah!”
“Three, two, one…” Nothing.
“Three, two, one…” Bupkus.
“Three, two, one…” Zip.
Maybe if she actually said it. “Three, two, one… Ta-dah!”
Courtney appears from the back room. “Ta-dah what?”
An ugly yellow object rolls across the window. Zelda relishes her response. “Ta-dah that.”
“I have my reasons.”
She’s getting the gist of approaching Edward, so she grabs a towel and initiates a scrub of her station. She tries not to respond to the fact that Edward is wearing shorts, revealing shins the color of toothpaste.
“Edward! No! Look at yourself, you’re all sweaty. I will not serve you a hot drink. Let me make you a mojito. Everyone loves them. On me.”
He stares at her, as if she has broken some law regarding the number of words spoken to a homeless team mascot. A bead of sweat drops across his forehead. He fishes out a dollar, drops it in the tip jar and heads to his corner.
Zelda concocts yet another mojito, adjusts the angle on the sprig of mint, and delivers it personally. Edward stares at it.
“Go ahead. Give it a try.”
He brings it to his lips, takes a reading on the flavor, then tries a full drink, slurping the liquid over the ice.
“Am I right?”
He nods. She waits for something else. It fails to arrive.
“Well. Let me know if you need anything else.”
She turns to go.
It’s the first time he’s ever said her name. She turns. He’s staring at the tabletop, trying to produce words.
“Do you… know a place… where I could dance…” He takes another sip. “By myself?”
“Boy. Do I.”
For a small city, Campbell has a good-sized industrial area, running between Winchester Boulevard and Interstate 880. Zelda takes a left over the railroad tracks and splits a pair of high-tech buildings to the garages and machine shops beyond. She pulls into a lot next to a long gray building and takes Edward to a door at the far left. A bat flashes overhead, squeaking like a bad wheel.
Zelda hits a switch. A bank of fluorescent lights flickers on to reveal a half basketball court of hardwood, fitted with mirrored walls and a barre. The far end is screened off by a purple curtain.
“Okay,” says Zelda. “I think I know how we can work this. There’s a separate section behind this curtain. I will retreat there and work on some stuff, and all the rest is yours. We can even turn off the lights if you want.”
“Yes,” says Edward.
She turns off the fluorescents, leaving only the dim light from a security lamp over the back door. She heads to a table in the corner that holds a stereo.
“We’ve got a standard mix for workouts. I think you’ll like it. Sort of ramps up gradually.”
Edwards looks at her.
“Okay,” she says. “Have fun.”
She ducks behind the curtain and begins the long process of stretching, dying to know what’s going on out there as the music and the footfalls increase in pace. “Something Stupid” by Sinatra. “Purple Rain” by Prince. “What’s Going On?,” Marvin Gaye, speeding up into rock, hip-hop, techno, salsa, finding its final eruption in “Brave and Crazy,” a propulsive acoustic by Melissa Etheridge.
It’s been an hour; Zelda has run through all her tricks and invented some new ones. The stereo heads into a section of warm-down songs: Mazzy Star, Cowboy Junkies, Natalie Merchant. When Edward parts the curtains, she is upside-down, her legs wrapped around the pole.
“This is what I teach,” she says. “And no, I never worked as a stripper.”
She grips the pole with her hands and performs a walkover dismount.
She smiles at his review. He is absolutely soaked in sweat.
“So are you all danced out?”
“No, I…” He rakes a hand through his hair and wipes it on his shorts. “I have an idea.”
Zarita works for a company that is marvelously green, arranging subsidies and loans for homeowners who want to go solar. Still, sometimes she envies Zelda. Money for coffee is a deliciously direct transaction, and less likely to lead to office politics.
When she picks up Zelda at the Pruneyard, it’s apparent that her friend has been raiding the supply. She is as giggly as a tween, and wearing a ridiculous amount of paraphernalia: orange jacket, orange and black ribbons in her hair, Giants T-shirt, Giants earrings, and a stripe of eye-black on each cheek.
“I’m sorry, are we watching the game, or are we in the game?”
Zelda reaches for her seat belt. “Come on! Where’s the team spirit? Ya gotta get on the train, baby!”
“I gotta get some of that French roast you been snortin’.”
Zelda giggles and covers her mouth. “Maybe.” And giggles some more. “How’s life at the douchebaggery?”
Zarita hits the ramp onto 880. “Oh no. It’s one of those days, so we shall not be discussing the great solar dynasty.”
“Just fuck him. That’ll knock the nerd right out of him.”
Zarita bursts out laughing. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“Well I… I did, didn’t I?”
Zarita climbs the long ramp to 280.
“Tell me one of your coffeehouse stories.”
“Let’s see, let’s see.” She taps a finger against her teeth. “Oh! Yes. Gina.”
“Gina’s this beautiful Italian girl, college student. We have this running conversation going, and the other day she just needed to ‘fess up, I guess. So her dad works in finance, middle management type, old school. She says he manages to hold on to his job mostly because he tells a good joke. But he comes home every day bitching about his boss, this young hot-shot type, and he tells her, Don’t ever fall for a man like that, it’ll be the ruin of you.”
“Uh-oh. Forbidden love.”
“Yep. And it so happens that Mr. Sleazeball had his eye on young Gina, had even begun to do some lightweight stalking. One day he shows up at her karaoke bar dressed like a blue-collar type, proceeds to sing this Journey song in this beautiful tenor voice, and she just melts. Does not discover who he really is until the next morning…”
“Yes, young Zarita, such things do occur. Gina is wandering around Duke’s apartment – and yes, that is his Christian name, Duke, when she sees a photo of a large corporate gathering, a photo that includes her father.”
“Oh God!” says Zarita. “Did that ruin it for her?”
“Au contraire! She went back upstairs and had sex with him again. And she says it was even better.”
“Oh, fickle woman!”
Zelda gives her a puzzled look. “I’m sorry?”
Zarita laughs. “Something my mother used to say.”
The San Jose skyline sprouts to their left, and Zarita takes 87 toward the stadium. They both know what the other is thinking. Forbidden love.
Zelda is just as squirrely at the game as she was on the drive. She does annoying little-sister things like poking Zarita’s shoulder and playing keep-away with her bag of peanuts. It’s beginning to get annoying, and Zarita fights the urge to say motherish things like Now listen here, young lady… Instead, she asks Zelda what her problem is, and Zelda gives her a look of sly guilt. At the top of the inning, she pops from her seat.
“Where you going?”
Zelda yells back over her shoulder: “Rhode Island!”
It’s a tense inning. The Giants’ pitcher walks the bases loaded, lets in a run on a wild pitch, then gets the next guy on a home-to-first double play to end the inning.
The PA plays the opening of “The Time of My Life” from Dirty Dancing. Zarita spots Gigante near the first base coaching box and suspects something is up. Then she sees Zelda in the on-deck circle. She holds the back of her hand to her forehead as if she’s just spotted the love of her life. Gigante responds by holding out his arms, beckoning her forth. Zelda crosses the green in a tippy-toe scamper, and Zarita realizes they’re going to attempt the lift from the movie.
Zelda leaps at Gigante, Gigante tries to catch her, and they topple over in a heap. The music stops. Gigante lies flat on his back, motionless. Zelda goes into a fit of sobbing. She’s killed Gigante! What is she to do?
From the PA comes the opening strains of “Shock the Monkey.” Zelda raises a finger to indicate she has received the suggestion. She motions for everyone to stay clear, rubs a pair of invisible defibrillators together and applies them to Gigante’s chest. After a couple of tries (and appropriate spasms from the patient), Gigante leaps to his feet and starts doing the robot, as if he’s trying to make sure all of his limbs work. He and Zelda join hands for an intricate pop-and-lock wave, then they work it closer until they have tied themselves together in a pretzel. Finally, Gigante whips her into a spin; she drops to the turf in a perfect split and raises her arms, victorious. Gigante follows with his own spin, but has to stop when he gets dizzy. He sees Zelda still holding her split, pretends he’s going to do the same, then changes his mind and works his way to his knees behind her like a crotchety old man. They indulge in some jazz-hands, then he lifts her up and they exit the field to wild applause.
“I just can’t believe… I mean… You were awesome! I know you can do that stuff, but… what the hell!”
“Here’s the shocking part,” says Zelda. “It was all Edward’s idea. I can’t get three words out of the schmuck, but then he creates these fantastic choreographies.”
They reach their secret parking spot at the tennis courts. Zarita starts the car. “You might just have the perfect relationship.”
“Hey!” says Zelda. “Let’s not be throwing the R word around. The boy’s a freak.”
Zarita catches Zelda smiling, and she cracks up.
Photo by MJV