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.”
“That? Eww.”
“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.
“Sinatra…”
“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.
“Zelda?”
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?”
Zelda smiles.
“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.”
“Oh.”
She grips the pole with her hands and performs a walkover
dismount.
“Wow.”
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.”
“Raymond?”
“Who else?”
“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.”
“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…”
Zarita gasps.
“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
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