«No. I was waiting in the soundproof booth to answer a skill-testing question.» Eugene was still digesting the scene before him and was silent. Susan wanted a reaction and added, «Gonad.»
He lit a cigarette and relaxed just a smidge. «I can see you're a feisty one. Ten out of ten for deportment.»
«Oh, let it rest. I came here on purpose. What do you
«You came
Susan stood up and removed the scarecrow's down jacket. «You've been doing weather for how many years now, Eugene — how many times are
«I was a good weatherman.»
«
«Susan, what could you possibly have come to me here for? I've never even
«Where's Renata?»
«Renata's not here anymore.»
A good sign. Susan's insides thrummed. «You two split?»
«Years ago. You didn't answer my question. Why did you come
Susan wondered herself why she had come there. All she'd known along the way was that she was in the Midwest and that Eugene's house seemed like the only safe place between the two coasts. She
«So let me get this straight — you thought Renata and I would give you a blanket, some Valiums and a phone line to 911? Your crash was a
Meanwhile, all Susan knew was that since her initial crush on Eugene she'd spent her life trying to find him in some form or another, mostly through Larry, and maybe now she wanted to see what the real goods were like. «Maybe I'm not sure myself why I'm here.»
«Oh, this is nuts!» He let out a breath. «Are you okay? After the crash? No broken bones? No bruises?»
«I'm fine.»
«You're going to tell me what happened?»
«Of course. Not now. Later.»
«You hungry?»
«Thirsty.»
«Come on. I'll get you some water.»
Susan brushed herself off and looked at Eugene's sculptures. «All this stuff made of trash. But it's so clean. How do you keep it all so clean?»
«It's my art. It's what I do. Come on. Kitchen's this way. How'd you get here from Ohio?»
The house was warm and dry. «It's pretty easy to get anywhere you want to in this country. All you have to do is find a truck stop, find some trucker who's flying on amphetamines, hop in the cab, drive a while, and then start foaming about religion — that way they dump you off at the next truck stop and you don't even have to put out.»
«I remember seeing you on that stage, you know.»
«You
«Hell, yes. The night you won, you would have even if your mother hadn't done her little blackmail routine.»
Susan didn't want to dwell on Marilyn. «I'm thirsty, Eugene.»
Eugene gave her some water. The kitchen ceiling's lights wore milk carton shades, beacons of missing children, and cast a yellow light on the sink. She checked the expiry date on one of them. «April 4, 1991. That's when you started to become Picasso?»
«Sunshine, you're crazy as a fucking loon. And your voice. Your manner. You probably don't even know it, but you've become your mother. I only met her for maybe five minutes, but baby, you're
Susan closed her eyes. She had a small puff of recognition. «Oh God — you know what, Eugene? You're
Eugene was curious but exhausted. They inched back into the dining room. «My brain feels like Spam. Are you sure you're okay?»
«Yeah.»
Eugene became officious. «How'd you manage to survive that crash?»
Susan took a sip. She was beginning to feel level. The sense of having taken flight was gone. «You know, I've been thinking about that for seven days solid. I drew ticket number 58-A and won. I don't think there's anything more cosmic to it than that. There just isn't. I wish I could say there was, Eugene.»
«But where were you this past week?»
Susan yawned and smiled. «Save it for the morning. I've been up thirty-six hours.»
Eugene was too tired to probe further. «There's still a guestroom with furniture in it. Probably a bit dusty, but it ought to be fine.» Eugene led her there. Susan, meanwhile, was inwardly glowing: Eugene was single, retired and, like her, didn't have too much interest in the outer world. Once in the room, she lay her aviator glasses down on the bedside table and sat on the bed.
«You know, if it hadn't been for Mom pulling that stunt with you, then I never would have stolen your 8-X-10 and fallen in love with you.»
«Love!» Eugene seemed amused but then yawned. He said to Susan, «I phone in my grocery order tomorrow afternoon. Think of what you want to eat over the next week.»
«Why not go out and just buy them?»
«I don't like leaving the house.»
Susan hadn't heard such good news in years. It was all she could do to contain her sense of sleeping on Christmas Eve. «Good night, Eugene. Thanks.»
«Night, sunshine.»
Eugene sighed and walked down the hall. He loudly thumped the top of a totem. «And the winner is …» he said, «Miss
At noon the next day Susan awoke to the sound of an electrical rhythmic thunking sound coming from the basement.
A minivan drove by outside. The rumbling beneath her, precise and gentle, continued. She found an old housecoat on the guestroom door peg and walked down to a paneled oak door beneath the main staircase. Blazing green-white chinks of light escaped from around the door's edge, as though the door were shielding her from invading aliens. She opened it and discovered the basement. Eugene was dressed in slacks, socks and a polo shirt, orchestrating the Xerox 5380 console copier's collation of hundreds of mail-outs. There were shelves of blank paper, file folders and CD-ROM's containing thousands of U.S. and Canadian names and addresses Susan would soon learn were culled by a demographics research firm in Mechanicsville, Virginia, accompanied by information
