Will was thinking about his mother because Haveabud had been floating face-down and holding his breath for so long that his mother would have made him come up for air. As a younger child, when he first saw a metronome, he had cried with frustration. Now he was a child swinging his foot in the water as his older, more accomplished friend explored the depths and Haveabud tempted fate, and Mel sank deeper into his dreams.
Haveabud swam over to Spencer and lured him to his shouldertops. He moved around, in the area of the pool where his feet could still touch the bottom, bouncing Spencer on a bumpy ride. Water rose to Spencer’s chin when Haveabud crouched. The water poured off him as Haveabud rose again. Will was offered the same ride, but he didn’t want it. Finally, to prove to Haveabud that he was in the spirit of things, he went to the shallow end and floated on his back. That didn’t last long because it was too bright to keep his eyes open, staring at the sky, and too strange a feeling to float with them closed. Wag had sent him a drawing of his neighbor’s pool, which he could use any time he asked permission. His mother had told him that no matter who gave permission, he was not to use the pool unless an adult was present. He wondered who that adult would be. It would be a little strange to see Mrs. Vickers without his mother. He knew they missed each other but that his mother was less sad than she might have been because of the exciting things that were happening with her photographs and with Haveabud. Will looked at Haveabud and Spencer, giggling, just as Haveabud went all the way under, and Spencer swam free and kicked to stay afloat. Will thought it must be very sad to have your real father gone all the way to Europe. His mother had told him that Haveabud was so nice to Spencer because he was sorry Spencer’s father had run away, and because Spencer’s stepfather had no interest in him. Wayne was his real father, but Mel seemed more like his father. He wished that Mel could stay in Florida with him. He looked back at the motel, where two people were taking suitcases out of their trunk, arguing. Their words weren’t audible, but it was obvious from the way they moved that they were angry. Will toe-hopped into deeper water and did the breaststroke, pulling himself up on the other side. He and Wag had taken swimming lessons together two summers before. He could hardly wait to be in the swimming pool with Wag.
Haveabud, out of the pool, rubbed the towel/epaulet over his chest and swiped the back of his swimming trunks. Dripping water, and gesturing for the two of them to follow, he pushed open the gate’s creaking door and began walking barefoot toward the motel room.
“Bologna and apples!” Spencer hollered, running behind him.
“Liverwurst,” Haveabud bellowed.
It was the daily debate about pizza toppings, starting from the most ridiculous and working toward something feasible.
Will called out that he wanted hamburger. He saw that something had bitten him in the crook of his arm: an itchy pink welt had risen. His mother would put medicine on a Q-tip and paint it over the bump. Mel would use his finger — if he had brought anything for insect bites. Will raised his arm and licked the bump. His skin tasted like chlorine.
“In here, in here,” Haveabud called, motioning him into the room with a sweep of his arm. “In here, the person who wants hamburger on his pizza.”
As Haveabud talked he entered the room and stepped out of his wet trunks. He was not tan, but his skin looked even paler when he took off his clothes. Haveabud turned around, scratching his pubic hair. He reached into his suitcase and took out a pair of black silk briefs and pulled them on as Spencer was closing the door. The pizzas he ordered by telephone were one medium with hamburger and extra cheese, and a large with shrimp and onion. Haveabud declined their offer of a liter of RC cola for ninety-nine cents by saying that he preferred to drink Jack Daniel’s with his pizza. He gave the name of the motel and his room number and asked that the pizzas be billed to his credit card. He recited the number from memory.
Spencer pushed the back of Haveabud’s knees from behind so his legs would buckle.
“They wanted me to commit suicide by drinking RC cola,” Haveabud said, dipping a little as he hung up. “The stuff tastes like rusted nails and cherry pits. You can get your beverages from the machine outside, while I imbibe something stronger.”
Haveabud opened the canvas drawstring bag he had brought into the room. Inside was the bottle of Jack Daniel’s, which he said was his only concession to currying favor in the South.
“What’s curried favor?” Spencer said.
“Please,” Haveabud said, rolling his eyes. “It is all right for you to be a child, but you have to also grant me my rights as an adult. I cannot give a running narrative of the meaning of all expressions. I keep telling you to remember that I like to talk. It seems like I’m talking to you, but actually I am talking to myself.”
Haveabud switched on the TV. Gene Kelly was tapping through puddles, singing his heart out. Haveabud changed the channeclass="underline" A camera zoomed in on otters sliding down a waterfall. On the next channel, a blond woman in a dress that made her look like a mermaid was playing with a telephone cord, licking her lips as she pulled it this way and that, inclining her head, so that her flickering eyelashes recreated the motions of the ascending and descending otters. She whispered a telephone number to call. “Let’s party,” the woman said. This was followed by a commercial for Drano.
Spencer picked up Haveabud’s bottle of Jack Daniel’s and, using it the way the woman had used the telephone, held the neck to his ear and batted his eyes seductively, then held out the bottle to Haveabud, who was coming out of the bathroom holding a glass. Haveabud laughed, grabbing the bottle away and pouring two inches of bourbon into the glass. Spencer continued to mime the actions of the woman on TV, looking at himself in the mirror. Haveabud reached into the clutter that had materialized on top of the dresser and picked up Spencer’s Triceratops. He, too, pretended the plastic animal was a telephone and shrugged his shoulder suggestively. Then, from amid the clutter of keys and suntan lotion and handkerchiefs, brochures of scenic attractions, a handful of change, an aspirin bottle, and spare Missoni socks, Haveabud lifted a tube of lipstick in a silver case, removed the cap, and stroked it on his parted lips. When he was done he puckered his lips, and Spencer and Will both screamed with laughter.
“Where did you get that?” Spencer said. “Where did it come from?”
“It was in my overnight kit. I have no idea where it came from. My wife must have dropped it in by mistake.”
“Put it on my lips,” Spencer said, jealous that Haveabud had started toward Will. Will put his hands over his mouth in protest, but actually Haveabud could see that he liked the idea. It was Haveabud’s notion that they could all be wearing lipstick when they opened the door to take in the pizzas.
“Open your mouth like you’re saying ‘Oh,’ ” Haveabud said. “I don’t know how to put this stuff on other people very well.”
Will’s smile disappeared when he opened his mouth wide. Spencer sat on the bed and stared while Haveabud slowly colored Will’s lips. Will’s eyes blinked every time Haveabud moved the lipstick a fraction of an inch. When Haveabud had finished, he got up and looked at his face in the mirror. Haveabud had done a good job. His mouth was so bright that he couldn’t focus on anything else — not even the other insect bite that had swollen on his forehead. He was afraid to talk for fear the lipstick would smear.