Clown Girl - Monica Drake [102]
He pulled the T-shirt over his head.
“Pants too.”
We were all elbows and knees as we wiggled out of our clothes. In the street, the ice-cream truck sang, and William called out a “Hello, what’s up,” while in our tiny house with both of us naked, I held on to Rex’s sweaty skin and drank him in, head to toe. I’d been starved.
“You smell like summer.” I pressed my nose into his warm sweat.
He laughed, said, “So that’s why they call you Sniffles,” as he pulled away.
I whispered, “Don’t. I like it. Rex Galore Concentrate.” Rex-essence in distilled form was better than valerian or pipsissiwa or any other herb. I held his shoulders and put my nose back to the soft skin of his underarm, but he only laughed.
“It’s concentrate, all right. Three day’s worth, one on the bus.” He said, “That tickles.”
“You could sell your sweat as an aphrodisiac.”
“Only to a crazy girl.” He had me wrapped in his arms. “And I wouldn’t want anyone else to have it.”
William and One-Night were a murmur of voices. A car went by.
“It’s like we’re in an eggshell. Like we haven’t hatched, we’re incubating together.”
“A double yolk,” he said.
Perfect. Another guy wouldn’t have a clue what I meant, would think I was weird for saying we were in an eggshell. Another guy wouldn’t get naked on a pile of costumes in an ambulance on the street.
I kissed his sweat. A curled chest hair clung to my lip.
He said, “Nita, just so you know, I’m only here for a few days. I have to go back down.”
“Speaking of going down…” I kissed the line of hair along his belly. His cock straightened and pointed, a long, fat finger.
Rex tried to pull me back up toward him, his hands on my shoulders. All business, he said, “For a show. Listen to this, Nita—it’s an audition, held at UC Berkeley, a joint deal with Clown College. They’re giving out four Emmett Kelly Awards. If I make the audition, I’d be a Community Arts Advancement scholar.”
I didn’t let him pull me up. “Let’s talk work later.”
He said, “Hey! Listen. For the application, I need an act.”
I tasted all the time I’d lost, apart from Rex; it was a world, an ocean, a story in the smell and hair and skin. His hands relaxed, and he dropped back into the swirl of costumes.
Outside, a baby cried. A woman yelled, “I told you not to stay all the damn day.” A second voice said, “I know, I know…”
I straddled Rex, and one of my knees hit the wheel well. The other pressed into the side of the cot. He held my thighs, gave in to me. Sweat ran down my back. We were two lizards, making love in the heat of our terrarium as the sun moved higher into the midday sky. It was nice. Hot. My cure.
Afterward, I fell asleep in that heat and it was as deep as if I’d been drugged. It was the first time in over a month that I relaxed enough to sleep. I couldn’t stay awake, had to give in.
Minutes, hours, or years later, through my eyelashes I saw Rex on his knees, jeans halfway on, no underwear. He sat back and pulled the jeans up, then rocked forward onto his knees to zip the zipper.
“You’re going out to piss?” I asked.
He said, “Shh, shush. Keep sleeping. You need it.”
I said, “With you.” I reached for his leg, wrapped my fingers around the denim.
“Come inside, we’ll sleep inside,” he said.
I said, “I can’t. We’re kicked out. Remember?”
He pulled his shirt on. “Nita, I don’t think Herman’ll mind if I crash in the back room. I’ve been sleeping on a couch for three weeks. Spent twelve hours on the bus to get up here. I can’t sleep in a pile of costumes.”
Rex was leaving me, again, so soon?
He said, “Don’t look like that. I’ll be inside. After I get some shut-eye, we can get some food or something. A beer maybe.”
I pulled a purple satin cape over my naked body, part of a costume. What if he talked to Herman? What if Nadia-Italia ratted me out?
He said, “You’ll sleep better without me. You can stretch out, relax…”
There was a gummy stain on the cape, glow-in-the-dark fake skin that melted off during an act. I picked at the spot like a scab, and said, “Don’t go. Please. Just stay.” I wanted him with me and I didn’t want him mingling