'An actor,' said his father in the harsh light below deck after all the votes were in. 'A Californian. One of our own. A hero straight outta storyland. That's just what it's gonna take to win this country back its b.a.l.l.s. You know what I mean when I say b.a.l.l.s don't you, son?'

Here the boy looked the man in the face and it seemed to him that the dark blond beard he wore was a disguise, something from a picture book, something to hide behind, beyond which might lie a fantastic world, maybe where the wild things are, maybe a place where all fathers are good fathers and wise. Then the boy looked down at his little penny loafers and started to cry.

'Jesus Christ. Your mother's molded you into quite the p.u.s.s.y, hasn't she?'

'You still didn't tell me where she is,' wept the child.

'She left us.'

'When's she coming back?'

'Coming back? She's not coming back. Not till h.e.l.l freezes over. Not till a field of roses grows all the way down Sunset Strip. There's Jew lawyers making sure of it.'

'Where'd she go?'

'You really wanna know?'

'Yes,' sobbed the child into his hands. This child eight years old. This thirty-foot Hatteras rocking in the cold night waters.

'She started f.u.c.king some gypsy f.a.ggot of a singer. Bobby something. Some B-rate Donovan she met at a party in Laurel Canyon last year when I was away on business in New York. Shame on me for trying to make an honest woman out of her. I guess this is my penance for making a kid with a go-go dancer. Sheila. Stock name for any low-life rag doll from any old s.h.i.thole in the Midwest. My mother, your grandmother-rest her soul-said it best: Love is a fairy tale, let's leave love to Hollywood, when it comes to marriage the trick is in the breeding, and that girl isn't fit to scrub our floors.'

What hidden savagery can live in the hearts of the painfully rich. A secret saved for the country club toilet. And Ross Klein, lying pale in his open robe on a sweaty rug, growing the beard his father handed down to him, is heir to such things. Should he wish to be.

But how could he forget the quiet beauty with the black braid? The scared and haunted mom he'd not see again. Sheila chasing songs. The faint patchouli she wore. The lisp when she talked, first voice he knew, and for the first few years of his life he would have sworn the billion other tongues on earth were flawed, not hers. She played him her best tapes on the 8-track player in the porch window of their place in the Hills. Van the Man and Jackson Browne and Tim Buckley and Joni and The Byrds. Carole King and Sweet Baby James and Judy Collins and Earth, Wind & Fire till the tapes broke. Songs that told of the life she gave up to live in this gigantic house. The boy in her lap rocking softly in the piney air when she'd sing along and they'd watch the city traffic struggle in the twilight down there, all the lights of Los Angeles blinking on through the haze like phosphorous life in a nameless sea of want and pending disaster.

But boys turn to men. And men litter their worlds with pain. Ross on the floor. His world a falling world. His gla.s.sy eyes on the ceiling. His ticking heart, blue-black and hidden like a mine.

Joe's pants are on the floor of Debbie's bedroom in the back of the Dairy Queen. A dusty broken walk-in cooler six months ago, this ten-by-twelve s.p.a.ce, got to through a heavy metal door behind the old kitchen in back, has since been reinvented as a veritable love den complete with candles, vaguely Eastern tapestries above a twin futon, baby oil on the nightstand, Rite Aid brand. It's just barely dawn, a Greyhound bus pa.s.ses out on the main road in the half-dark, Deb snores lightly by his side and the cell phone in the pocket of his d.i.c.kies on the carpet sings a muted We will, we will rock you.

'Joe here.'

'Joe boy?'

'Who is this?'

'Who else calls you Joe Boy?'

'Why you callin' so early, Mom?'

'I want to go to the drive-in one more time before I die.'

'You're not gonna die, Ma.'

'Oh yes I am. I hate to be a party p.o.o.per but so are you. And that strange big bird you've shacked up with. And every other blessed creature in the universe one day or another. And my day's just around the bend, whether you like it or not. No sense moping about it. That's why I'm singin' in the rain,' sings Bea Two-Feathers.

'But isn't there something we can do to-'

'Singin' in the rain. I'm not gonna be one of those sad sacks who fights tooth and nail for nothing. I sincerely hope I just clap off like the clapper the day he comes knocking.'

'Who?'

'The guy with the cycle. Death. The Boatman. Ferryman. Whatever you wanna call him. All I want is to go to the friggin' drive-in movies one last time and that G.o.dd.a.m.n Director Steve won't grant me a day pa.s.s.'

'Why the h.e.l.l not?'

Debbie stirs beneath the sheet. 'Who you talkin' to, baby?'

Joe covers the phone with his long hand and whispers, 'My mom. I think she's losing her marbles.'

'I heard that.'

's.h.i.t. Sorry, Mom. I'm just worried about you.'

'So then get your a.s.s down here and have a talk with this n.a.z.i director.'

'Okay, I'll be down, just let me get my pants on,' says Joe and hangs up.

'Don't you dare put those pants on yet,' says fat Deb. 'You hear me, Tonto?'

Just upstairs in the crow's nest, the young Marine sweats in his blanket with his knees drawn up to his chest, his maimed eyelids twitching, his pale stoned head host to a shifting slideshow of horrors not seen on CNN. Not seen on FOX. Babar crushed against his armpit where elephants can't forget.

He can hear sh.e.l.ls falling three miles to the west, a dull simple rhythmic barrage he's come to regard as an unlikely comfort in this alien land. He's not supposed to be here. Not in this country and not in this empty lot. He's slunk off to hide awhile, to sit with his back against a wall, his gun on his lap and his head tilted back in an uneventful corner of this ruined capital where he might find a little rest from the fight, the shrill finite stabbing in his temples, the grinding of his jaw, a built-in standard of confusion, the whole of his half-hearted liberating force getting nowhere quick.

They're building a Burger King here. See the signposts they drove into the ground. It boasts the name of the contractor awarded the job, 'Liberty Corp.: Working hand in hand with your community to build a brighter tomorrow'. A lean yellow dog runs from the shadows and rattles a paint can and it scares Black Jesus half to death. The slightest unexpected thing. The smallest crash nearby. A bottle breaking. Kids throwing stones. Maybe a Datsun backfires. All these things will make him gasp, make him shake, send the coldness up his back.

He's not supposed to be here. Not supposed to see what he saw.

'Mike London here with your 98.9 FM, The Hawk morning weather. Unseasonably cool today but sunny and clear in the higher elevations. Highs in the upper sixties. Not a cloud in the sky. I see a warm front moving up the coast from the Carolinas but we won't feel the effects of that till the weekend. More updates every hour, on the hour. Now it's time for On This Day as we take a quick ride down memory lane with some fun facts from the internet. It's the 11th day of August. So let's start this one off right. On this day in 1956, Elvis Presley releases 'Don't Be Cruel', h.e.l.l yeah. On this day in 1971, construction begins on the Louisiana Superdome. On this day in 1978, the world mourns the death of Pope Paul VI and legionnaires' disease bacteria was isolated in Atlanta, Georgia. On this day in 1866, the world's first roller rink opens in Newport, Rhode Island. On this day in 1991, s.p.a.ce shuttle Atlantis 9 lands back to earth. On this day in 1982, the US performs a nuclear test in the Nevada desert. On this day in 1976, Keith Moon, drummer for The Who, collapses and is hospitalized in Miami. On this day in 1980, the Yanks' Reggie Jackson hits his 400th home run. On this day in 1999, the Salt Lake City tornado tears through the downtown district killing one. And on this day in 1965, The Beatles movie Help opens in New York City. So I hasten to add that this day is as good as any to say something from the heart, in these tough times we could all use a little Help, so here you go Catskill region, and remember: I really appreciate you sticking round.'

'I lost my virginity to this song,' says Debbie White to a bewildered customer, an old lady in a platinum blonde wig who's come to declare that one of the antique rings for sale in Deb's jewelry case is indeed her wedding band and she wants it back.

'You gotta be kiddin' me,' Debbie tells her. 'I traded a pair of 180 Dolomite skis for that ring with a kid from up the mountain, musta been last November.'

'When Harold left me I didn't know what else to do,' says the woman. 'I was all alone with the kids and the bills piled up so I took it to a p.a.w.nbroker in Albany.'

'Ain't that a shame.'

'So quick bright things come to confusion,' says the woman, looking off in the distance.

'What the h.e.l.l's that supposed to mean?'

'It's Shakespeare, you dimwit. Harold was so fond of poetry. It's how he weaseled his way into my pantyhose.'

'That's funny, we got a Shakespeare's right down the street, and there you'll find comedy,' Deb takes a pause for dramatic effect, '. . . and tragedy.'

'And maybe a busted lip if you mouth off,' chimes in Lionel.

The octogenarian looks at the kid in the rocking chair, smiles a wry smile and says, 'Cupid is a knavish lad, thus to make poor females mad.'

'Okay lady, listen,' says Deb, 'I'll give you a ten per cent senior citizens discount. That's the best I can do.'

'What if I could prove it was mine?'

'Finders keepers.'

'Have a heart,' pleads the woman.

'Thirty-one fifty-five. Take it or leave it.'

'What if I call the cops?'

'Go right ahead. Oh, wait. On second thought, you don't have to waste the quarter. Here he comes now.'

Joe slams the sheriff's cruiser in park and jumps out, it doesn't take a mind reader to see he's upset.

'If we're done here I've got to tend to my man,' says Deb and the lady spews out a string of outdated cuss words and looks at the gold ring in the gla.s.s case there as lost and tarnished as the way she feels about the plot of her own life, the present state of the USA. Then she skirts round the approaching Joe Two-Feathers and gets in her Mercury Sable and drives away.

'What was that about?' says Joe.

'Nothing,' says Deb. 'What happened at the old folks home? Are they gonna let your mom out?'

'That Director Steve is a real son of a b.i.t.c.h.'

'I guess that means no.'

'Did you know he's a s.e.xual weirdo? Yeah. He talked about it like he was telling me the scores to a Mets game. o.r.g.a.s.mic liberation. a.n.a.l. Bis.e.xuality. b.u.t.t beads. Orgies. Sat yapping at me in his office for half an hour. I s.h.i.t you not. Told me he's tired of his wife. Go figure. Told me how he's filed for divorce on the grounds that she tried to poison him with an ambrosia salad.'

'Is that the one with fruit and marshmallows?'

'I thought it was whip cream!' shouts Black Jesus, oddly pa.s.sionate about this single ingredient.

'Beats the h.e.l.l out of me,' continues Joe. 'It's not important. The important piece of info is that this guy is f.u.c.ked-up. Mental. And this is who we got taking care of our parents in their twilight years? He bit and sucked on his pencil and told me now he's got the hots for the divorce attorney he hired. Terry Lipbaum.'

'A man?'

'Yes, Black Jesus. A man. Can you believe that freaky s.h.i.t?'

'So what's the big deal about letting your mom go watch a drive-in movie?'

'He says her day trip privileges have been suspended till the staff review her case.'

'What the h.e.l.l for this time?'

'Gambling.'

's.h.i.t, bingo again?'

'Horses.'

Debbie can't help but laugh. And by now Gloria has abandoned the chest of drawers and crept closer with her National Geographic and taken a seat on the ground next to Lionel's rocker so as to be sure not to miss a word.

'She's got a friend at the OTB who's been feeding her the inside dirt on races, doped-up thoroughbreds, hot jockeys, etc.,' says Joe. 'Come to find out she's been making a killing on the other residents in the TV room after dessert and coffee.'

Gloria raises her hand like a kid in cla.s.s and waits to be called upon.

Joe sees her and nods to Debbie and Debbie turns and sees the hand up and says, 'What, Gloria?'

'I want to meet your mom, Joe. She sounds incredible.'

'Visiting hours stop at four,' says the Deputy. 'Just watch out for that pervert. His office is on the ground floor.'

'Can I bring Lionel?'

'Black Jesus,' says the blind boy.

'I don't know,' says Debbie. 'He hasn't gone anywhere on his own since he's been home.'

'He won't be on his own if he's with her,' says Joe.

'You really think it's a good idea, honey?' Deb squints at Joe.

'I think she'd like it if some young people came to see her. She still thinks she's a teenager anyhow by the crazy s.h.i.t she gets into. And she's gonna need cheering up after I drop this no-drive-in-movie bomb on her.'

'How'm I gonna get there?' Lionel wants to know.

'First things first is you gotta get up from that chair,' says Gloria rising to her feet.

'But I like my chair. It's close to the ground if I fall.'

'You're not gonna fall.'

'You never know. I'm S-T-O-N-E-D,' he says, drawing out each letter slower than the last.

'Stoned?'

'Stone Cold Steve Austin, Ma. I took three pills with a Mountain Dew right when I woke up.'

'You're supposed to just have half a one in the morning and the other half with dinner, pumpkin,' says Deb, a little scared to upset him.

'Yeah, but you didn't see what I dreamed last night.'

Everyone is quiet after that. His declaration hangs in the air like burnt brakes on the mountain road. The radio plays. He makes a mark in the gravel with his work boot. Down at the stoplight someone lays on their horn.

Then Gloria says, 'So I guess that's a yes? Great. It's the big cement building with all the windows, right Joe?'

'Yeah. Just down the road behind all those trees in the back of the field past Shakespeare's. It's an easy walk.'

'I ain't walkin' nowhere,' says Lionel, his big black gla.s.ses gleaming.