Strays. Part 6

"Theodore," he says, "what are you doing here?"

"I just came by to say h.e.l.lo."

"Oh, there's more going on than that. You can tell me. I'm king of the beasts."

"Well, okay." Finally I take the picture of my parents out of my wallet and hold it up. "Can you see this?"

"Are you kidding? There are three people - a male and a female and a cub. The male has his arm around the female, they're both smiling, and the little one's asleep."

"Well, they died. And I'm living in this foster home, and the lady there has this doll and she's pathetic, and her husband is this old military guy and he's pathetic, and sometimes I'm just so lonely."

"What you need, Theodore, is a pride. If you can get some females to hunt for you, that's all the better. Nothing beats lying around under a tree while the girls work. But a few young guys - that's okay, too. Promise me you won't spend too much time by yourself - the hyenas will get you."

"Son?"

I look up to see two park guards in their blue uniforms. Behind them are a dozen people.

"Are you okay?" The big guard has his hand on my shoulder. "It says right there you can't feed the animals."

"I wasn't feeding the animals."

"You could have fooled me. Those lions never get that close to the moat, and if they do, they don't stay there unless somebody's throwing food."

"I was just showing them this picture."

He reaches for the photo in my hand. "Who are these people?"

"My parents."

"You're showing the lions a picture of your parents?" He starts to lead me through the crowd. "They around here somewhere?"

"No, I'm by myself."

"Did you drive?"

"I took the bus. And before that the Gold Line. I live in Pasadena now."

"It's nice up there. I've got family in Pasadena."

Down in the enclosure, the lion has his back to everything.

"You're not on anything, are you?" the guard asks.

"Like drugs? Are you kidding? I don't mind leaving. I know that's what you want me to do."

"Do we need to walk with you?"

"No. I know where the gate is."

They get on either side of me. "I think we'll just walk with you anyway."

The next day I'm dozing when Astin comes in. He's limping, and his jeans are torn.

"Hey, man," he says. "Did you even make it to school? I didn't see you all day."

"I was late, but I made it."

"You were dead to the world this morning."

"I'm still trying to get over Little Noodle."

His grin is huge. "Is that far out or what?"

I sit up and put both feet on the floor. The clock says it's the middle of the afternoon. "Is she going to keep doing that?"

Astin opens the top drawer of his IKEA dresser and paws through it.

"If she tries, here's the drill - you see that look on her face and she starts talking about her womb, you're out the door."

"But she told me if I was difficult, she'd call Ms. Ervin."

"No way is she calling anybody, Teddy. What's she gonna say - that you wouldn't play dolls with her? Look at it this way: she hasn't got her hand in your pants, she's not drunk, and she's not stoned. But now you're an official foster kid. You get the I'VE SEEN LITTLE NOODLE T-s.h.i.+rt."

"I about lost it. That bra of hers looks seaworthy."

Astin cackles, then clutches at his side. "Don't make me laugh; my ribs hurt."

"What happened?"

"I was helping a buddy of mine work on his rice burner, and when I took it out for a spin, I had a little wreck. I wasn't going very fast. I'm all right." He starts tugging at his belt. "I'm going to change my pants, then get something to eat. Come with me."

"I just keep seeing those b.o.o.bs of hers. I may never eat again."

"I'm buying. I hate to eat alone."

"Call Megan."

"She's making puppets for that AP English cla.s.s you guys are in. C'mon, we'll take the chopper. Get you some street cred."

"Okay, I guess. I sure don't want to stay here."

Outside, Astin points to the tarp on his motorcycle. "Help me with this."

I tell him, "I feel sorry for her. Do you feel sorry for her?"

"For Barbara? Are you kidding? If I feel sorry for anybody, it's Bob."

We lift at the same time, and the tarp billows a little.

"Give it a shake and then stand still."

I watch him come toward me, one fold after another. He brushes at the tarpaulin, fusses with the corners. I go over what Astin told me: she starts in with the waffles and the womb; I'm out the door. If it works for him, it'll work for me.

I follow him into the garage, where he opens the trunk of Mrs. Rafter's Saturn and stows the folded cover. Then he wants me to look too.

"What'd your old man drive?" he asks.

"Subaru."

"What'd his trunk look like?"

"Afghanistan."

He opens a varnished box with bra.s.s hinges. There's a fire extinguisher, yellow jumper cables, red flares, one of those aluminum blankets, bottled water, a see-through sandwich bag full of folded maps, and some kind of walkie-talkie.

"She's afraid of earthquakes," he says.

So there's Barbara with her doll wondering if the overpa.s.s is going to fall on her before she gets to Curves. Oh, G.o.d.

Astin leads me back outside and pats the motorcycle like it's a big pet.

"Harley Shovelhead, S&S engine, and a Boyd front end. I drove all over h.e.l.l and gone to find stuff. And what I couldn't find I made. This thing is so lean and mean I've had guys tell me it won't run 'cause it hasn't got enough parts."

There's not much room for paint, but the gas tank is the deepest blue I have ever seen. "It's nice."

"You bet your a.s.s it's nice. This baby and I go to Daytona Speed Week next year and win some prizes." He mounts up, hands me a helmet, grabs the handlebars, and leans back. "Get on."

I step back. "No way am I putting my arms around you."

"Just grab hold of my jacket. n.o.body'll see you, anyway. We'll be going too fast."

He turns the key, and we're gone. Dry leaves fly up behind us like a wake. I don't much want to, but I have to hang on to something because we're up to at least fifty miles per hour just like that.

"You okay?" he shouts.

"Yeah." Actually I'm a little scared, but I'm not going to tell him that. And it's nothing like when those three jocks turned me upside down in a trash can. This is kind of fun.

He leans us into a turn. "Know how to drive?" he yells.

"A car, yeah."

"Not one of these?"

When I shake my head, my helmet b.u.mps against his. The wind grabs part of our conversation.

"Get you started in a nice big parking lot where you can't run into anything."

"I'd just fall over, break something."

"So I fix it."

"I meant something of mine. Like a leg."

"Tell everybody you laid it down, lucky to get out alive. Chicks love war stories. Show 'em your scars."

He slows down and pulls up to a stoplight. We're first when the light changes, and he keeps revving the engine.

"Hey!"

I glance to my right, where a white standard poodle, groomed like he's up for Best in Show, has his head out the window.

I reply, "Hey, yourself."

He nods toward the driver, a woman with too much Botox in her lips. He says, "All I do is cruise up and down this street with Ms. Fancy Pants, so I know what I'm talking about. Watch out for a cop parked behind that Sh.e.l.l station up ahead."

"Thanks. Are you all right?"

"So-so. I wasn't bred just to ride around in a Lexus, but I can't complain. How about you and your boyfriend?"

"Hey, it's not like that."

"Sorry. I got a look at myself in the mirror this morning. Do you believe this haircut?"

On the green, I lean forward and tell Astin to take it easy for a block or so.

"Why?"

"Just a hunch."

Sure enough, not thirty seconds later there's the snout of a black-and-white cruiser peeking out, then the driver holding a radar gun.

"Too cool, Teddy!" says Astin. "You can ride with me anytime."

We pull into the parking lot of Blue's Burgers, which pretty much straddles the dividing line between San Marino and Pasadena.

I think of those chimp wars Mom told me about because guys from Alhambra and Santa Mira and Pasadena and Arcadia mill around in their letterman's jackets. It's like a watering hole in Africa, too. There's a lot of sniffing and snorting and jostling for position.

I've heard about Blue's, but I've never been here. My parents didn't eat out, and, anyway, all I needed was to show up somewhere cool with my mommy and daddy. I guess I could have ridden down on my bicycle, but why? People who go to Blue's want to see and be seen. I wanted to be invisible.

Astin squats down beside the motorcycle, takes a handkerchief out, and wipes the chrome. He talks without looking at me. "Pretty soon, Bob's going to take you off KP and give you the garbage detail."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"Nope. It's a promotion." He glances up at me. "You know why Bob's always out in that workshop, don't you?" Astin doesn't wait for me to answer. "She wants to adopt, but he doesn't. She gets pretend kids and he gets a check every month, but she won't let it go. So he's just like, 'Adios.'" He wipes his hands carefully. "I'd pity any baby she ever got her hands on. She's more screwed up than my mom, and that's saying something."

I ask, "What'd your mom do?"

He doesn't look at me. "Drugs, booze, any guy in a leather jacket."