Durable Goods Read Online Free PDF Page A

Anyone could be there: The lifeguard. Rock Hudson. A talent scout looking for someone exactly like Cherylanne, driving all around the world in his white Cadillac car until he finds just her. You might as well be prepared, is how Cherylanne feels. She’ll take a double shower, wear her Tigress perfume from the bottle with the fake-fur top.
    The sun is setting; I can feel the concrete beneath me losing its heat. The door opens, bangs into me slightly, and Diane comes out. Her face is still red from crying. He’s been gone for hours, but she has not left her room until now. She sits beside me, doesn’t look at me. “I hate him,” she says.
    I stare straight ahead, peel thin strips from a fat blade of grass I am holding. “I got it, too.”
    “What for?”
    “I was at the snack bar eating french fries.”
    “So?”
    “I was in my bathing suit.”
    “Oh.”
    “Is that why?”
    She looks at my chest. “I don’t know. What did he say?”
    “He said I didn’t go there for french fries.”
    She nods. “Oh. That.”
    “What?”
    “He thinks you’re going there for boys.”
    “What boys?”
    “Don’t boys come to the snack bar?”
    “Well,
yeah
.”
    “Well, that’s it. He thinks you’re looking for boys.”
    I am actually a little flattered.
    Diane smiles. “He started that shit with me when I was the same age.” She looks at me carefully, then away.
    “Hey, Diane,” I say. “Remember when we used to pull down our pants to look at our butts in the mirror, to see his handprints, see whose was darker?”
    She leans back on her elbows, stares up into the sky. “Yeah.”
    “That was funny, wasn’t it?”
    “No. None of this is funny.” She sits up. “It’s not right, Katie. He’s not supposed to hit us like that. I’m going to tell someone, I swear. I’m going to get him into trouble.”
    “Don’t.” It comes out before I think it. I laugh, surprised. But then, again, I say, “Don’t. I don’t think you should.”
    Diane puts her head down into her lap, her arms around her head. “I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t know what to do.”
    I see Riff coming around the corner. He looks like he’s just gotten up from a nap, walking stiffly, his hair standing up a little on one side of his head. He takes a few steps, sniffs at the ground, takes a few more. Then he sees us, gets a glad-dog look in his eye, and gallops over. I pet him, but Diane keeps her head down, busy with her private sorrow. Riff noses her elbow, and she puts out a hand to push him away. “Don’t.” Her voice is muffled, new sounding. Riff sits down, his face leaning forward, his ears on full alert. Then he gets up to walk behind her and investigate, sniffing carefully. And then, unbelievably, he lifts his leg against her.
    Diane straightens immediately, her mouth a perfect O. Then she is up on her feet, yelling, “Riff! Jesus!
Goddamn
it!” She holds the back of her blouse away from her with two reluctant fingers, stares crazy-eyed at Riff, who, in his mournful confusion, has sat firmly down and now watches her, stonelike, waiting to hear what to do for forgiveness.
    Diane turns around in a small anguished circle, trying to inspect herself. “Jesus, Riff! You pissed right on me! Oh, God, it’s
warm!”
Riff blinks at her, his whole heart in his eyes. He wags his tail one-half time. And then, despite herself, Diane starts to laugh, and so do I. “You shithead!” she says, and Riff barks happily.
    The woman who lives next door, Ruth Conway, comes out holding a cleaning rag. Belle says she dusts her refrigerator coils. “What in the
world?”
she says. “Whose
mouth
is that I hear?”
    Diane stops dead. Ruth Conway is a grown-up tattletale. “That dog peed on me,” she says, pointing.
    “Who, Riff?” His tail thumps: once, twice.
    “Yeah, Riff.”
    Mrs. Conway frowns. “Oh, I don’t think so.”
    Diane shows her the back of her blouse, thehuge wet circle. Mrs. Conway leans forward to look, wrinkles her