The few objections are too weak to be taken seriously and several guys shout out what they have for cassettes.
“I got new stuff,” Sam says.
The revelation provokes groaning and rhetorical vomiting.
“No punks,” Rick announces, “and I don’t want to hear any of that headbanger crap.”
“Hey,” Todd Gramolini says, “what’s this shit? I happen to like metal.”
Nearly everyone in the room backs the sentiment with obscene affection.
“Remember Dread Zep?” Sam asks.
Rick groans. “Too well. None of that shit, either, Samurai.”
“Not them. They’re not new anymore. This tape I got in my duffel, it’s called 2 Live Zep.”
Everyone laughs and waits expectantly for the punchline.
“First cut’s called ‘Suck My Black Dog,’” Sam says.
Rick’s shriek of laughter rises above the outburst of the others.
Sam blushes; he can’t help it.
“Hey hey mama,” he sings, mimicking Robert Plant’s blues-hoarse tenor, “say you suck my dick, say you suck my dick ‘til it makes you sick.”
“Make me sick all right,” Rick gasps.
The rest of the session, everyone spends revising various classic Zep lyrics to 2 Live Zep versions of equally unredeeming social merit. It is, Sam thinks, a successful shuck. The foolishness relaxes them all and unlike the locker-room sexual boasting, no one is maligned by it. And they are reassured that he is still one of them, still the reliably blasphemous Preacher who was one of the instigators of the most legendary of school pranks.
Sam is in the shower when Chapin steps under the spray next to him. Chapin lets his head drop back and the water flushes over his face and down his body. He shakes himself all over like a wet dog and moves closer to Sam.
“Just the man I wanted to see.”
Sam turns his back on him.
“You owe me, Samson,” Chapin continues. “From New Year’s Eve.”
On the other side of Sam, Rick shuts off his shower and lets his ears flap while he towels off.
Chapin shrugs. “Hey, man, I’m not going to press it. I’m a reasonable guy. I can make allowances for a misunderstanding. What’s the profit in us being at odds, for either of us? Shake on it, Samson?”
Sam glances at the hand Chapin offers.
“Come on,” Chapin urges. “We got no reason to be enemies. Not over Sister D.” He looks to Rick and back to Sam for consensus. “We go back, D. and me, you know that, but anybody can do anything they want.”
Sam turns to Rick. “What an asshole,” he says softly.
Rick laughs.
“Oh fuck you then,” Chapin says, still smiling, “that’s the way you want it.”
Sam buries his face in the water, hosing the rage roaring in his head.
The singular beat of the ball on the polished court reverberates in the empty gym as he drives it. Again he is avoiding the cafeteria to meditate alone with ball and hoop. He needs desperately to get his head straight about Deanie Gauthier and it’s impossible to do when she’s right there in front of him. As he works the ball, he unplugs his brains and lets what his body knows take over. As if he were dreaming, his mind runs its programs randomly, processing basketball, Deanie and sex, overlapping, intersecting, like the shapes of colored glass filtering light in a kaleidoscope.
Billy Rank slips into the gym and squats on the sidelines. Sam drifts his way and hunkers down next to him.
“What’s up, Bilbo?”
“Gotta talk to somebody, Sam.”
Looking at the tic pulsing under Billy’s eye, Sam doesn’t doubt it, though he groans inwardly at being Billy’s chosen confessor.
“What is it, my son?” Sam murmurs in a grave ministerial voice.
Billy laughs shakily and then takes a deep breath. His pleading eyes lock on Sam’s. “I didn’t have anything to do with that rat in your locker.”
Sam shrugs.
Billy’s gaze drops suddenly and his face blotches with embarrassment. “I didn’t do anything to that girl, Sam.”
He shakes his head. “I couldn’t. I was too drunk.” A nervous hand goes to his forehead, rakes his hair. “Never been so shitfaced, Sam, honest. I was just gonna have a few beers but I got wasted so fast. When we picked up the girls, I heard the Mutant telling Pete Lexie’s only thirteen but I couldn’t believe anything serious would happen. And then it did and I didn’t even want to try but Pete called me a limpdick faggot. I never believed I could be involved in something like that. It just seemed to have its own momentum, you know?”
Sam reaches out to squeeze Billy’s forearm. “Take it easy, Billy.”
Looking up with anguished eyes, Billy asks, “I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s all mixed up in my head. I’m not sure of what I’m remembering anymore. What do I do, Sam?”
It’s the last question Sam wants to hear.
“You’re not sure what happened?”
Billy shakes his head. “Not exactly. Some of it. I mean, you know what happened. We were all wrecked except Gauthier and she stayed away from what was going on with the other girls.”
Sam clears his throat.
“Billy, do you want to talk to someone? Coach or Wild Bill or Rick’s dad maybe?”
“Shit no!”
Sam relaxes a little.
“I’m talking to you,” Billy points out.
“Okay. But maybe you should get some help with this.”
“I just want to know if Lexie is okay. That’s the important thing. I’d like to apologize to her but what if she laughs at me?”
“You have to do what you think is right.”
Billy groans. “I don’t know what’s right!”
“Well, you can’t undo what’s done. Try to let it go for now. Maybe what you should do will come clear if you can get a little distance on it. If it makes you feel better to see if she’s okay, do it. I haven’t heard she isn’t—okay, I mean. She was loaded too, right? So maybe she doesn’t remember a whole lot more than you do.”
Billy nods eagerly. “Yeah, maybe she doesn’t. Thanks, Sam.”
This is great, another load of shit to put him in the right frame of mind to play. Billy too; if Billy
