The Neon Jungle

Chapter Five

Mr. Grover Wentle was a very overworked gentleman. The high school was overcrowded. The teaching staff was barely adequate. And his secretary told him that Miss Forrest was waiting in the outer office with a disciplinary problem. It was the fifth time that day.

“Who is it?” he asked his secretary.

“One of the senior girls. Christine Varaki. Disturbance in study hall.”

He started to say wearily, “Send her in and...” He stopped and stared at his secretary. “Teena Varaki? There must be a mistake.”

“From the girl’s attitude I hardly think so.”

“Get me her record first. She’s due to graduate in a few weeks.”

The secretary sighed and plodded out. Mr. Wentle sat and remembered what he knew of Teena. Bright, capable, friendly. A good worker. Active in extracurricular activities. A rather sturdy, merry-eyed blonde, well liked by classmates and teachers.

The record brought to him was, surprisingly, up to date. The monthly grades had been posted. March had been her last good month. The grades for April and May were close to failing. He put the record aside. “Send her in. Tell Miss Forrest to return to study hall. It will be a shambles down there.”

Teena came in. He saw at once that the look of sturdiness was gone. She was much thinner. Her face looked shallow. She sat facing him, without invitation, and her stare was bright and hostile.

“This doesn’t sound like you, Teena.”

“Doesn’t it?”

The tone of her voice angered him. He waited until his temper was under control. “Suppose you tell me what happened.”

“I was reading a book. Forrest came along. It’s none of her business what I do as long as I keep quiet. She took hold of my hair. So I stood up and slapped her.”

“You mean she just came along and took hold of your hair?”

“I knew she was standing there. She told me to put the book away. I didn’t answer her. It’s none of her business what I’m reading so long as I keep quiet. She took my hair to make me look at her. So I slapped her and she brought me here. I’ll do it again the same way if she tries it again.”

“This isn’t like you, Teena.”

“You said that once.”

“I looked at your record. You were doing splendidly. What happened to you in March?”

“My brother died.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. This is a big school. It’s hard to keep track of—”

“Don’t sweat.”

“What did you say?”

“I said don’t sweat yourself up about it. March was a long time ago. He got killed in Korea. That’s got nothing to do with this.”

“With how your attitude has changed?”

“My attitude is all right. I like it fine.”

“Others might not be as fond of it as you are.”

“My attitude is my business. You want to expel me or send me back to study hall? Either way suits me. It doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t care if you don’t graduate?”

“Not particularly. I’ll be eighteen this summer. I’m done with school.”

“If you get your grades up during exams, I’m almost certain I can get you a university scholarship.”

“Do I go home or go back to study hall?”

He looked into the hostile blue eyes and felt a sense of defeat. Sometimes you thought you had them, and then suddenly they were lost. There seemed to be more and more of them these last few years. Full of a new sullen hostility. Full of disrespect. He felt the weariness of his years and his position. In the dream he had planned to be a full professor by now, a departmental head at a college with a wide green campus, Gothic stone, chimes at sunset.

That was the dream. The reality was this ugly brick school, the hostile eyes, the evil, the obscenities. The reality was this girl who sat insolently slumped, insolently staring.

“Teena, if something is bothering you, I wish you’d tell me.”

“Something is bothering me.”

“What?”

“How the story comes out. The one I was reading when Forrest yanked on my hair.”

“You come from a decent family, Teena.”

“You want somebody should play soft on violins about now?”

“Go back to your study hall.”

She got up and looked at him for a moment without expression, then turned and left his office, swinging her thin hips in the plaid skirt.

She got to the study hall just as the bell rang for the end of the period. Miss Forrest gave her a look of unadulterated hate. Teena looked back with the flat indifference of someone who looks at a door, window, chair.

She went down the aisle and scooped her books off her assigned desk and turned back toward the door. Fitz came up behind her.

“Make out?” he asked.

“Weeping Wentle made with violins.”

“You’re not out?”

She turned and looked back up over her shoulder at him. “Should I be?”

They went out into the hall. There was five minutes before the last class of the day. She leaned against the wall of the corridor, books hugged in both arms. Fitz leaned one hand on the wall and looked down at her.

“I got some sticks,” he said softly.

“How many?”

“Enough. Ginny’s got some caps. A hell of a lot of them. Bucky is all set with the car. How about it?”

“They want us along?”

“So why not? They want to pop. They want company. Ginny got the sticks and the horse. She says they’re both real george.”

“So why not? Like you said.”

He bent his arm so that he leaned his elbow against the wall and thus stood closer to her. There, in the crowded corridor, between classes, he slid his free hand up under the hugged schoolbooks. She shut her eyes and made a small sound.

“Around the corner on Duval,” he said, his lips close to her ear, “right after next bell.”

He took his hand away and left her. She stood for a moment, the strength returning to her knees, and then walked down to her next class, getting there just as the warning buzzer sounded. She went to her desk, slammed her books down hard, and sat down, flatly returning the indignant stare of the teacher. The class whispered, giggled, rustled. The teacher stood up and the interminable last hour began.

Teena sat and thought about Fitz. She thought about Fitz and thought about what Ginny had, and wondered whether there’d be enough. It was funny how the two were getting all mixed up in her mind. Fitz, fix. Funny how she’d thought he was so messy before. Always doing fresh things. And always in trouble in schood. Running around with those girls they talked about. He and Bucky. Girls like Ginny. Ginny was nice.

The house had gone so sour when they heard about Henry. Like it had taken all the life out of the house, and out of her. All the life and all the resistance, so that when Fitz came around that same week, it didn’t matter whether she went out with him or not. Bucky drove fast. Scary fast. And Fitz in the back with her. “No honey, you’re not doing it right. Look. Like this. You put the cigarette in the corner of your mouth. See? But you got to leave your lips a little open so air comes in along with the smoke. Then you suck the smoke and air right down deep into your lungs. That’s the kid! Come on. Again, now. That’s the way, honey.”

“I don’t feel anything.”

“Give it a chance, honey. Give it some time.”

It was funny how fast it slowed the world down. She remembered how she could look at the speedometer and it said eighty, but looking ahead she could see every crack and pebble on the pavement, and it was as if she could hear the tick and thump of every cylinder in the motor. It was as if she could open the door and step out, the car was going so slow. Bucky had the place over the garage. His family had a lot of money. She remembered him saying that he was in public high school because he’d been thrown out of the schools where they sent him. The place over the garage had always been a sort of playroom for him. It was full of kid stuff. They’d ended up there, the four of them. Floating. The music was something that was new in the world. Notes like the slow ripple of silver cloth. All dim up there. Bucky’s family away someplace. She smoked more, the way Fitz had taught her. And then Fitz had her watch Bucky and Ginny. Bucky heated a spoon over a stubby candle. She saw the gleam of a needle. Ginny stood with her face turned away. She worked her fist and Bucky held her arm tight and the blue vein came up, bulging ugly inside the delicate elbow. Ginny had funny black curly hair cut close to her head, and a cute shape and big wet brown eyes. She shook all over.

“What is he doing to her?” Teena had asked.

“Main-lining her. Capping her straight.”

Time went all crazy. It would drag and then speed ahead. There was the music. Teena floated. There was just one dim bulb and the music. She and Bucky sat on the floor in front of the speaker. Fitz gave her another stick and she went far away then, and after a long time she awoke to an annoying, awkward discomfort. There was a heavy weight crushing her, and the weight was Fitz. The music was slow and hard in the ear. Fitz’s eyes were so close to hers she could distinguish each separate lash. Bucky and Ginny were somewhere else in the room...

When they let her out by her house, Fitz had to call her back to give her her schoolbooks. They seemed strange to her, a part of a faraway world that had lost all importance. She went into the alien house full of strangers, full of strange faces and alien eyes. The clock in her room said ten-fifteen.

The next morning she had remembered. Memory had terrified her. This house was the real world. These schoolbooks. That other was nightmare. The twelve blocks to school was the longest walk she had ever taken, and the sleet stung her cheeks, and she felt soiled and ashamed. She did not want to talk to Fitz. But she saw him in study hall, and made herself return his stare. Ginny had come up to her, later, in the girl’s room.

“What are you looking so pink-eyed about, Teena?”

“I... I just didn’t...”

“Watch the words around this outfit. We talked about you.

You’re a good kid, Teena.”

“Thanks, but I...”

“The Christer types make me want to fwow up. You were a good sport. You didn’t chicken on us.”

“Maybe I should have.”

“Relax. It’s all for kicks. No damage done. We’ve got a party coming up. O.K.? See you at three.”

And she found herself going with Ginny again, and again they drove fast, this time over ice, and ended up in the same dim room. From then on, house and school became unreal and stayed unreal. It was more comfortable that way. If you did not care, there was no place inside you that hurt any more.

She couldn’t remember which time it was that Bucky gave them both the pops. Not in the vein, like he and Ginny took it. It wasn’t like the sticks. This was something that rolled down hot through you and exploded, and ran right back up to a delicious floating warmth, a feeling of owning everything, a feeling of being queen of Hollywood, star of a show.

After a pop, the sticks seemed lifeless. Ginny and Bucky wouldn’t come through again with a free cap for another pop when they were together again. They said they had a heavy habit to take care of. Fitz and Bucky quarreled. They made up, and there were a few more times when they were together again, and got a cap and a half apiece, having it cooked together, and Teena was crazy mad for a minute because Fitz got more than his half, but when it hit her, she got over being mad.

Now everybody had got mad again. The teacher droned on. She sat and thought about what Fitz had said. Sticks and horse. She thought sullenly, horse for them and sticks for us. Meat for them and lollypops for us. But he had said they wanted company. Every time she thought of it, it made something turn over inside her. It had been too long a time. Three days. Her face was itchy and her eyes watered. It was funny about food. It would look good but you could chew and chew and it wouldn’t go down. Ginny had left school last month.

The interminable hour finally ended. Another week gone. A weekend stretching ahead.

The three of them were waiting in Bucky’s car for her, where Fitz had said they’d be. She made herself walk slowly to the car. She could hardly keep from running.

She got in the back beside Fitz. “Hello, you people.”

“The pride of Johnston High,” Ginny said. “How you been making out, Teena?”

“Dandy. Just dandy.”

Bucky didn’t start the car. He turned around and stared at Teena. Ginny stared too. It made her nervous. She tried to smile at them. She felt as if her smile were flashing on and off like one of those airport things.

“I think it’s O.K.,” Bucky said.

“I know it’s O.K. I told you it would be O.K.,” Fitz said.

“What are you talking about? What’s O.K.?”

They didn’t answer. Fitz patted her leg. Bucky started the car up. “Where are we going?” Teena asked in a small voice.

“The family came back,” Bucky said. “We’re going to Ginny’s place.”

“Is your family away, Ginny?” Teena asked.

They all laughed at her, and it made her mad, so she sat back in sullen silence. Bucky drove downtown, past the railroad station, along a street of missions and cheap bars and shoddy hotels. He went down an alley and parked in a small concrete cavern behind an aged brick building. They went up back stairs for three flights. The air had a tired musty smell. Ginny unlocked the door of a small room with one window and they all crowded in. There was barely room for a sagging bed, bureau, and chair.

“Be it ever so humble,” Ginny said. “Sit on the chair, Teena.”

“Sure. Do we take a fix here?”

“Could be,” Bucky said, giving her a cool crooked smile. Bucky and Fitz sat on the bed, side by side. Ginny leaned against the window frame and folded her arms.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?” Teena asked nervously.

“Well, it’s like this...”

“Shut up, Fitz,” Ginny said. “I’ll handle this. You need a fix, Teena?”

“Oh, God, Ginny! It’s like things crawling all over me.”

“How many free rides you got off us?”

“Gosh, I don’t—”

“Plenty, kid. You think maybe it grows on trees? You think you get it free because of your charming personality? It’s time you started earning your fixes, dear. Like a good little girl.”

Teena glanced from one to the other. They were all looking at her with a cold expectancy. “What’s this all about?”

Ginny said, “I’ve made a few contacts since I quit that stinking school. I got a good source now. I can take care of you every time you want it. You can start taking care of your end of the deal right now.”

“How?”

“There’s a room right down the hall. There’s a guy in the room. A friend of a friend. I described you. He paid for you, honey. He paid me. All you got to do is go down there and be nice to him. When you get back, the fix will be waiting.”

Teena felt something shrinking inside her. “Somebody... I don’t know.”

“Are you thinking you’re better than me?”

“No, Ginny. No, but...”

“What difference does it make? He’s a nice guy. Room Thirty-eight, Teena.”

“I... can’t.”

Ginny crossed close in front of her, so close that her leg brushed Teena’s. Ginny opened the top bureau drawer. She flipped open the little box and held it out. “All yours when you get back, honey.”

Teena hugged herself. She felt cold. “I... I can’t.”

“It’s just the first time that’s tough, Teena,” Ginny said gently. “I got contacts. It’s safe here. You ought to be able to take care of your habit with no more than four or five... dates a week.”

“Remember I get a fix out of this too,” Fitz said worriedly.

Teena looked at him. He was looking intently at Ginny, his mouth tight. “Because you roped her?” Ginny said. “You won’t free-ride forever. And you got a bigger habit.”

“So far,” Bucky said softly.

“Shut up,” Ginny said. “I’m running this.” She looked at her watch. “You better get down there, kid.”

“Give me the fix first. Then I’ll do it.”

“He specified no zombie, kid. You get it later.”

They all kept looking at her. She got up slowly. She felt as though she would break if she moved too quickly. She made herself think of how it would be, afterward. She made herself think of flame, spoon, and needle, and the wonderful tenseness of the last few seconds of waiting. She half heard Fitz’s sigh of relief. She went out into the hall. “That way,” Ginny said, pointing. “Thirty-eight.”

She moved down the hall, feeling as if she were moving in a dream. The doorknob of Room 38 felt chill in her hand. She turned the knob and pushed the door slowly open. It was a room like Ginny’s. A heavy man sat on the bed. He had a bald head. He had small dark eyes. He held a cigarette mashed between thumb and middle finger. He looked sharply at her, grinned, snapped his cigarette against the wall, and, standing up, said, “Come on in and close the door, honey.”

Teena turned and ran, instinctively yanking the door shut in his face as she turned. She fled down the hall. She heard a harsh yell as she got to the head of the stairs. She went down the first flight so fast that she came up against the wall at the landing, stinging her hands. She was crying with fright so that she could barely see. She heard Ginny call her angrily, shrilly. She pushed open the heavy fire door that opened into the bright June afternoon. She ran down the alley and turned toward the railroad station. She sobbed aloud as she ran, and after she became aware of people stopping to stare at her, she slowed to a fast walk, and kept her face turned away from those she met. She looked back and thought she could see Fitz standing way back on the sidewalk.

When she reached home she went softly up the stairs to her second-floor room and shut the door. She lay on her bed. Every time she shut her eyes she could see him, see his grossness, see the bald head with the gleam of sweat.

And then her mind slid uneasily back to the look of the box Ginny had held out. And the crawling wanting began again, worse than before. She rolled her head from side to side. She held her fists hard against her forehead.

There was the box and the slick, sweet needle gleam, and the teaspoon, caked and blackened with delight, and the waxy stub of candle. She could have pretended the other thing was happening to someone else. Such a little unimportant thing to do to acquire something that would deliciously end the crawling want, the itching, the grainy eyes.

She heard Jana’s warm mellow voice. “Telephone, Teena! You up there, Teena? Teena!”

Teena held her forearm across her mouth and bit it, making a pain she could barely stand. Jana stopped calling. Teena looked at the deep white notches in her arm that began slowly to turn red. She doubled her fist and hit her thigh as hard as she could. The pain knotted her muscles, cramped her leg. She wondered if they would give Fitz a fix anyway. Probably not. He’d be half wild by now. Suddenly she remembered the single stick she had hidden in her jewelry box. She had not wanted it before, wanting only the sick sweet swoop of the way the needle would hit, the way Bucky had fixed her in the vein the last time, drawing blood back up the needle and hitting her hard again.

Her hands shook and she had a terrible moment when she thought it was gone. Then her fingers touched the dryness. As she lifted it out, some of the contents spilled. She made a little paper scoop and took a deep breath and made her hands stop shaking long enough to pick up every shred and work them all back into the coarse paper tube. She lay on the bed and took the match and lit it and held it a moment and then touched the paper. She breathed as fast and hard and deep as she could, never taking the cigarette from her lips. The red line of burning climbed steadily up toward her lips. She kept it up until she had to pinch one tiny corner of the very end, until the last deep drag stung her lips.

She had been afraid of the distinctive smell of it in the house. But this was an emergency. She got up and disposed of the tiny butt that was burning her fingertips. She opened the windows wider, went back to the bed. It was, she thought, like being given spun-sugar candy when you wanted a steak. Like being hit with a handful of feathers when you wanted a sledge hammer swung hard against your heart.

The twisting need for the delayed fix roiled slowly under the surface easement of the stick, but it was a bit farther away. It was just far enough away to keep her from getting up and going back to the man in the room. It was just far enough away so that she was able, after a time, to trip and fall headlong into an exhausted sleep.