C.D. Payne - (Youth In Revolt 2) Revolting Youth: The Further Journals of Nick Twisp

Also by C.D. Payne

Youth in Revolt
Civic Beauties
Cut to the Twisp
Frisco Pigeon Mambo
Young and Revolting
Revoltingly Young

To Joy

SATURDAY, February 20 No, I havent abandoned my impulse toward labored introspection. Ive simply been too busy coping with the distractions of sudden wealth to write in my journal. Its fortunate for New England asceticism that Henry Thoreau didnt win big in the stock market while camping out at Walden Pond.

Like me, Hank would probably be making countless expeditions with his future Trophy Wife (Sheeni Saunders) to the big city (Santa Rosa, California) in search of luxurious household furnishings for his rented bachelor digs. Carlotta Ulansky (my 14-year-old feminine alter ego) is inclined toward the comfortably overstuffed, but Sheeni insists on the rigorously tasteful. She has replaced Granny DeFalcos spine-crunching old couch with a sinuous sofa of hand-woven wool (color: eviscerated celadon) fashioned by brooding, socially conscious Finns. Upon this taut perch this afternoon we successfully performed our 31st act of sexual union. Now a casually tossed mauve linen pillow conceals a small, telltale moist spot.

For the sake of statistical texture in my future autobiographytentatively titled Nick Dillinger UnmaskedIve decided to keep a running total of my sexual experiences (excepting only solo acts, already too numerous to count). This should prove invaluable to future sociologists studying the amorous habits of oversexed, alcoholic fiction writers. Perhaps Ill keep track of my beverage consumption as well, though I fear the inexorable binges of middle age may muddle the count. So far at any rate my lifetime cocktail total is up to four.

Back to sex. Ive found that one of the nicest aspects of sexual intercourse is that delicious moment when one is maneuvering ones clammy nakedness atop ones submissive loveheart fluttering, senses tingling, be-condomed T.E. (Thunderous Erection) honing in on its target like a laser-guided smart bomb. I asked Sheeni if girls enjoyed that moment of exquisite anticipation as well.

I hardly think so, Nickie, she replied. Were usually paralyzed with fear that the dolt is going to stuff it up our bladder or something.

All in all Im glad I was born a male, even if lately I do spend a good part of my time dressed as an elderly Italian widow. Yes, homely Carlotta continues her role as a one-girl fashion harbinger of the long-delayed Mussolini Revival.

Ten minutes later. My journalistic ruminations were interrupted by the sounds of ear-piercing howling. Carlotta rose from her lacquered teak computer desk and strolled into the living room where her obese maid, Mrs. Flora Ferguson (ne Crampton), was beating Sheenis ugly black dog Albert with the New York Review of Books.

Whats the trouble, Mrs. Ferguson? inquired Carlotta.

Breathing even heavier than usual, my maid paused to compose her reply, causing me to wonderas I often doif paying her by the word would speed up her speech. Sorry, Miz Carlotta I didnt mean to interrupt your writin I think this damn dog done piddled on your brand new davenport!

Feigning alarm, I studied the familiar stain in question. Damn! exclaimed Carlotta. This sofa cost over $3,500. It was custom ordered from Helsinki.

That so? remarked Mrs. Ferguson, impressed. And it dont even recline!

Albert looked up at me imploringly as I replaced the linen pillow.

That dog has got to learn, said Carlotta sternly. Mrs. Ferguson, you may resume your administration of discipline.

Sighing heavily, she followed my orders. Albert took it like a man. As chief bill-payer in the household (and presumed leader of the pack), I am trying to establish my unchallenged dominance over the rebarbative beast. No one likes to be number two (just ask Sheenis wanna-be boyfriend Vijay Joshi), but hierarchies must be imposed. They are civilizations only defense against chaos.

SUNDAY, February 21 The day dawned surprisingly spring-like, which Sheeni interpreted as a sign from God to skip church. We rendezvoused at the downtown Ukiah donut shop for a leisurely perusal of the New York Times and furtive, under-the-table grope. Carlotta hoped this would lead to a quick return home for my 32nd you-know-what, but Sheeni suggested instead a joint expedition on our matching new 21-speed Italian mountain bikes. At a nearby deli staffed by swarthy Middle Eastern men in bloody aprons, we purchased two curried eggplant sandwiches (My Love is experimenting with vegetarianism). She deposited this aromatic package in the streamlined, graphite-reinforced basket mounted on her handlebars. In my basket she placed a small but surprisingly weighty (and noticeably more aromatic) black dog.

Darling, I pointed out, it appears your dog Albert would prefer to ride with you. As you can see, hes growling at me.

Hes only clearing his throat, Carlotta. I fear he may have a touch of the ague. An outing in the fresh air cannot help but prove restorative. And sweet Albert belongs to both of us. He loves you very much.

And do you love me very much? I couldnt help but ask.

On a morning this glorious, I love nearly everyone, she replied, swinging a lovely leg over her saddle and powering off in a demandingly high gear. Sighing, Carlotta adjusted her brassiere (containing two jumbo-sized foam shoulder pads, a $20 bill, and a condom) and puffed after her. Albert hunkered down in his basket and glared at me.

We had gone barely two blocks when vile Vijay Joshi emerged from a side street on his modest red mountain bikeonce the object of considerable Twispian envy, believe it or not. The morning sun glinted crudely off his plated Taiwanese chrome as Vijay pedaled toward us. He glanced with calculated indifference at my satiny Milanese metalwork and peered longingly down the fluttering neckline of Sheenis official Wart Watch T-shirt. I felt the need to distract him from this latter activity by crashing into his rear wheel.

Carlotta! Look where you are going! he shouted, swerving toward a municipal oak tree and unfortunately just missing it.

I believe I have the right of way, she replied. Heavens, you nearly injured darling Albert.

Do be careful, Vijay, called Sheeni, circling back.

In this country one keeps to the right-hand side of the road, Carlotta pointed out.

A dictum you might well observe yourself! he replied.

If looks could kill, the roadside would be littered with two fresh corpses.

May I inquire, Sheeni, if you and your reckless chum are cycling to any particular destination? Vijay asked.

We have aspirations of reaching Lake Mendocino, Vijay. Would you care to join us?

Yes, indeed, he replied eagerly. I understand that lake is one of the scenic delights of your county.

The nerve of that creep. Imagine inviting oneself along on a private bicycle excursion. So much for my eagerly anticipated afternoon interlude of bosky lakeside lovemaking. How frustrating. And how unfortunate that ones desire for sex is inversely proportional to ones opportunities for love-making. I hope those gigantic logging trucks are running on Sundays. Perhaps well be lucky and encounter one piloted by a reckless, immigrant-loathing skinhead.