Miss Wyoming Part 16

In early September, Susan was heavily pregnant and began togrow bored and cranky. "Hormones, Eugene. I get them hot andspicy like my mother." She told him she wanted to take the car out for a spin.

Eugene, testy after disa.s.sembling an overtaxed air conditionerin the bas.e.m.e.nt, unsure if he might be able to rea.s.semble itafterward, had no interest in joining her. A heat wave had madethe bas.e.m.e.nt the only cool area in the house. The floor was cov-ered in wires and screws, one of which Susan stepped on, sharpening her own rnood until it broke.

"I want to drive to the Drug Mart and get some alcohol tocool my b.o.o.bs. And it'll be fun to do some makeup, slap ona wig."

"What if you-"

"Go into labor?"

"Well, yeah."

"I'll bring the cell phone."

" Let me gas up the car then."

"Gas up the car?"

He went around the corner from where he was rewiring theair conditioner and opened up some sliding doors to reveal sev-eral 55-gallon drums Susan hadn't seen before They'd beenloaded through what appeared to be locked hatches in the ceil-ing above.

"What the h.e.l.l are these, Eugene?"

"Gas. I panicked during the Gulf War. I stocked up."

"Are you nuts? Keeping these in the bas.e.m.e.nt?"

"Cool yer jets, sister. It's nearly all gone. You should have beenhere in 1991. It was like a refinery down here."

"This stuff's been down here the whole time?"

"I only drive maybe three miles a month. So, yeah."

"That's not the point, Eugene."

"Go get your wig. The weather's making us both nutty. I'll gasthe car."

Susan went upstairs to disguise herself. That day she was LeeGrant in the movie Shampoo, complete with frosted wedge-cutwig, and a beige pantsuit of Renata's modified to fit her smalleryet pregnant body.

She also chose one of Renata's many purses,filled it with a small pile of clutter, makeup and baubles-her"pursey stuff "-and looked at herself in the mirror-sporty! Feeling a tiny bit better, she went into the carport, and calleddown to Eugene. "I'm going, Yooj."

"Can you pick me up some gum?"

"Gum?"

"Cinnamon Dentyne."

"Yes, my lord."

"Ouch!"

"What's that?"

"This G.o.ddamm wire just sparked in my hand."

"Careful now. See you in a half hour."

She got in the car, still slightly annoyed. The sun was almostdown, but none of the day's heat had dissipated. And soon the alcohol would be an extra cooling treat. She parked at the stripmall and bought a few things at the drugstore. Her mind wan-dered. She thought about how soon it'd be before she'd be go-ing there regularly for Pampers and breast pads. On impulse shebought a bottle of bourbon at the Liquor Barn next door, andthen got back in the car. Sirens were flaring down the street andshe heard a boom a few blocks away.

She turned the corner onto her block to see the lower portionof the house completely ablaze, flames shooting out the win-dows like water raging down a river. More fire engines arrived,as if from the sky, just as Susan saw the top half of the housecollapse into the bottom half.

It was the plane crash repeated-the flames, the havoc, theunreality. She closed the car door tightly and walked toward thepyre. A fireman warned her to stay away, but she ignored him, stumbled over a fire hose and heard the firemen yelling at one another: * "Fastest fire I've ever seen. Zero to sixty in two seconds."

* "Almost like it was planned this way."

* "Anyone in there?"

* "Won't know until tomorrow. a.s.suming there's anything left."

* "Family? Christ."

* "No. It's that old weather guy-Evan something. From back in the eighties."

* "Before my time."

* "Real coot. Lived alone. Collected trash, the neighbor said."

The front facade of the house tumbled into the barbecue pitthat was once home. All eyes were on the fire, none on Susan, -/SO.

who felt trapped and d.a.m.ned in some sort of sick cosmic loopas she turned around and ran back to the car.

She started the car. Already the show was ending outside-not much remained to burn. She pulled away, wanting to find a highway, any highway, crying furiously, hitting her face, bruis-ing it in anger. She found the freeway and raced onto it. Shedrove with the high beams on because she knew she was nowin some rarefied darkness.

Susan remembered a New Year's Eve she'd once had, back inthe eighties. She'd been in Larry's Jaguar and the two of them had gotten lost on the way to a party at Joan Collins's house.They'd already gotten a late start, and then the car neededgas. They'd taken the wrong freeway exit, and the net resultwas that at the stroke of midnight they were on the HollywoodFreeway, one car among hundreds-millions-around the world,driving through the night, through all the great changes,through those moments when one era turns into another.

Her eyes became cosmetic blots. She couldn't see and shepulled into a gas station and washed her face in the rest room.She fumbled in her purse and cried when she found a small photo of Eugene among the other things. And then she foundthe folded-up letter she'd rescued from the shrine to her back atthe Flight 802 crash in Seneca-Randy Montarelli of 1402Chattanauqua Street, Erie, Pennsylvania. She went into the con-venience store, full of rush-hour shoppers, stole a map and gotback into the car and drove, north and then east, from Bloom-ington to Indianapolis to Akron to Cleveland.

Around midnight she drove into Erie, Pennsylvania, where she pulled out the map and rattled through its flaps until shefound what she wanted. Then, in what turned out to be a dozen or so contractions later, she banged on the front door of RandyMontarelli's town house. He opened it wearing a cuc.u.mberfacial mask, with a TV blaring in the background playing a pre-taped episode of Matlock. The odor of popcorn filled the air likehot salty syrup. Red-eyed, Susan ripped off her wig. Her hairwas sticky, her brain racing. She crossed Randy's threshold anddropped herself onto the couch where she produced, before theTV program was over, a perfect baby boy.

Randy's afghan dogs, Camper and w.i.l.l.y, were whimpering inthe spare bedroom. Randy held the baby in his arms while Su-san yelled at him to cut the umbilical cord, which he did.

Chapter Twenty-two.

"You hag, stop trying to change me. G.o.ddammit, I can't ever re-member a single moment in my life when you weren't trying totwist me into something other than who I am."

"Are you through yet, sweetie?"

They were in Denver for the Miss USA Teen competi-tion. Mother and daughter were conducting their conversationthrough clenched teeth, mouths smiling. They were breakfastingin the Alpine Room of the Denver Marriott. It was seven-fifteenThursday morning, at an orientation meeting and "Prayer Wake-Up with Turkey Sausage-Turkey, the Low-Fat Pork Subst.i.tute."

Such pre-event meals were standard pageant procedure, andat them, gown lockers and keys were a.s.signed. Susan also filledout sign-up sheets to set up a time slot for a video photo-op tour of the city of Denver, the footage to be edited into abig-screen montage and shown during the Sunday night awards ceremonies.

Meal time changes were announced, and lunch that day was...o...b.. shared with a local den of Rotarians.

"So we can hook our-selves up with a f.u.c.k-buddy" Susan laughed.

"Susan!" Marilyn slapped her daughter, who smiled, becauseas with most slappings, it's the struck who wins the match.

"Cla.s.sy, Mom. Real sw.a.n.keroo! I don't think anybody in theroom missed it. There goes my Miss Congeniality trophy."

"Only losers win Miss Congeniality, Susan. Aim higher."

Since the move to Cheyenne a few months before, just afterher cosmetic surgery, Susan had grown positively mutinous. She had no friends in that surprisingly flat and dusty Wyoming city, and her high school days were finally over after having receiveda C- average from an exasperated McMinnville school, blissful to have Marilyn out of its hair. Susan lived her days as might thefavored member of a harem, painting her toenails, foraging for snack foods and absorbing anything possible from the local li- brary up the street, eager to broaden her world's scope and to learn of possible ways out of pageant h.e.l.l: Thalidomide, theShaker religion, witch dunking, the Yukon Territory and IngridBergman.

On the drive to Denver from Cheyenne, Susan did some mathin her head. She realized that counting all of her wins over thepast decade, little if any money was ever fed back into improv-ing the Colgate family's quality of life. All the loot, she figured,was cycled right back into gowns, surgery, facials, voice andsinging lessons. Susan had, until that math exercise on the drivedown to Denver, thought of herself as the family breadwinner, the plucky little minx who kept her family away from the de-structive intrusion of social workers and the rock-bottom fate of s.h.i.+lling burgers at Wendy's. She now understood that in con-tinuing the pageant circuit, she was only fueling the fire of her own pageant h.e.l.l.

The Miss USA Teen pageant was a national contest, but notone that Marilyn would concede was A-list like Miss America,Miss Teen America-or even Mrs. America. The winner of theMiss USA Teen pageant would receive a Toyota Tercel hatchback,a faux lynx fur evening coat, $2,000 toward college tuition, and$3,500 cash, along with a gown endors.e.m.e.nt contract.

Susan had easily clinched the Miss Wyoming Teen t.i.tle, andMarilyn acted like a crow raiding another bird's nest as Susantwinkled her way through a compet.i.tion that was hokey ama-teur and pushover. It was essentially four car-stereo speakers, aborrowed room at the community center (the sound of basket-b.a.l.l.s from the next room punctuated the event like a randommetronome) and a feedlot of tinseled yokels who knew nothing about ramp walking, cosmetics, accessorizing, stage demeanor or the correct manner of answering skill-testing questions. Thequestion asked of Susan had been: "If you could change onething about America, what would it be?" Marilyn knew that the easy and obvious answer would be peace and harmony, but Su-san's answer, delivered in tones Marilyn found suspiciously heartfelt, was, "You know what I'd change?" A pause. "I'd liketo make us all stop squabbling for just one day. I'd have citizenssit down and talk about what it means to live in this country-all of us sitting down at the world's biggest dinner table, agree-ing to agree, all of us trying to find things that bring us togetherinstead of the things that keep us apart."

Storms of applause.

t.i.tle clinched.

Marilyn found that Susan had been difficult of late, alter-nately insolent, silent, crabby and apathetic. The Miss Wyomingt.i.tle, rather than making Susan buoyant, merely threw her into some sort of moody teenage dungeon, and afterward each timeMarilyn and Susan needed to talk about pageant business, Susanwould merely roll her eyes, moo, and return to one of what wasan ever growing pile of books with disturbingly uncheerful ti-tles like Our Bodies, Our Selves and Mastering Your Life. The drive toDenver had been particularly taxing, owing to both Susan'ssulkiness and to an Interstate pileup outside of Colorado Springsthat left one trucker dead, six cars munched and a confetti ofbroiler chickens and Nike sneakers strewn across the median.

The remainder of the drive was somber, and nearing the hotel,Susan seemed to have reached a decision of some sort, and cheered up once more, the way she'd been back before-backbefore when?

Marilyn watched Susan flow through that evening's pageantwith a previously unseen ease. She walked like a Milanesemodel and held her head up high like a true Wyoming cowgirl.She was good, and Marilyn knew it and, like most show moms,kept one eye glued to her offspring, the other on the even-ing's quintet of semi-loser judges: the local modeling schooldoyenne, a drive-time FM radio jock, a disco-era Olympic gym-nast, a walking hard-on from the local baseball team, his leg in acast, and "Steffan," a humorless local designer with a midlife-crisis pony tail. Marilyn looked at the faces of the judges, the speed and confidence with which they jotted their numericalratings onto the score sheets, and knew Susan was a shoo-in as afinalist. Backstage during the final costume change, Marilyn couldn't help but preen: "Sweetie, you're just killing them outthere."

Susan removed her key from where she and many other con-testants stored theirs-duct-taped to her belly just above the pu-bic hair so as to preclude vandalizing of gowns and accessoriesin the locker areas. She and Marilyn prepared the final gown."You'll never guess why I'm doing so well tonight," Susan said.

"Whatever it is, just keep on doing it."

"You sure about that?"

"Win, sweetie, win. It's all there is." Marilyn zipped Susan upand checked her hair. "Turn around-lint check."

Susan turned and the overhead lights blinked: time to getback onstage. "What's tonight's secret then, sweetie?" Marilynasked. "Let me in."

Susan stood in the wings with the four other finalists, MissArizona, Miss Maine, Miss Georgia and Miss West Virginia. Thestage lights glowed like the sun through a grove of leafy trees."The reason is," she said, just before the emcee called out "MissWyoming," "that I no longer give a rat's a.s.s."

Marilyn's heart chilled. Susan went onstage. With dread,Marilyn returned to her table, where a broad a.s.sortment of nowdrunk show moms and show dads were clapping with nearCommunist precision and zest. Irish, living in Denver that sum-mer, was along for the evening's ride. She occupied a $45 seat to Marilyn's right. She asked Marilyn if she was okay.

"Just fine, hon. Just fine."

The emcee introduced the skill-testing-question portion ofthe evening's events, and asked the five finalists to enter the "Booths of Silence," which were actually a series of plywood stalls painted robin"s-egg blue, fronted with a sheet of clearPlexiglas. Inside, Whitney Houston music blared to the exclu-sion of all other noises-just the sort of yesteryear proppingthat Marilyn thought kept this particular pageant entirely B-list.

Susan was fourth out of her stall, having watched MissMaine, Miss Georgia, and Miss Arizona come onstage beforeher. She left her booth, hearing the click of Plexiglas on ply-wood. She sashayed up to the green electrical tape strip that washer floor marker. She saw that the emcee was as handsome asEugene Lindsay-Whyis there never a woman emceeing these things?Whyis it always some variation of a Qantas pilot crossed with a Pentecostal evangelist?His teeth, lips, Adam's apple and chin worked in symphony, andSusan heard: "Susan Colgate: A UFO lands in your back yardand a little green man pops out of it and says to you, 'h.e.l.lo,Earthling-please tell me about your country.' What do you tellthis little green man?"

Susan thought about this question. Why would an alien even know about the concept of countries?

Were countries a univer-sal Concept? Did they have countries on Betelgeuse or on Mars?She thought about what a ridiculous spot she was now in. How many times had she been in just such an artificial situation where she was put on trial with fatuous, clownlike questionslike something out of the Salem witch trials? Susan looked into the emcee's eyes and she could tell he was hosting the evening'sevent because he needed the money. Gambling debts? An addic-tion to s.e.xual novelties or to Franklin Mint collectible ceramicthimbles? What was with his hair?

Was that a trace of a scar onhis left eye? Oh G.o.d, there still remained this idiotic question tobe answered. The audience was so quiet. The lighting was sobright!

Aliens . . . She thought of cartoon aliens endorsing presweet-ened breakfast cereals. Pictures of Mexicans flashed through herhead. She recalled the moods she had when she was on theroad, driving to pageants-the hotel rooms and freeways andtaxis and forests and grocery stores and all of the people she'dever seen across the country, churning, scrambling and going- going forth-into some unknown.

She replied, "I'd tell that little green man that we're a busy country, Ken." Marilyn safety-pinned the names of the emceesonto gowns before storing them in backstage lockers. "I'd tellhim that we like getting things done here in the USA, and thatwe're always on the lookout for newer, better ways of doingthem.

And then, Ken"-Susan decided to speak to the emcee as aperson and not a robot- "and then I'd ask the little green manif he'd take me for a ride in his UFO, and I'd say, 'Take me to De-troit! Because there's tons of people there who'd like to learn from this little UFO s.h.i.+p of yours-because you know what?These UFOs look like a dandy new way of doing things fasterand better. That's the American way.' Then, I guess, the two of uswould lift off and cross this big country of ours. You might evencall it a date. That's what I'd say, Ken. That's what I'd do."

Her smile was clean, her eyes direct, and the crowd loved her.Miss West Virginia was next. She was going to tell the littlegreen man that the USA was a free country and that if he had aproblem with that, he could leave, then and there. This wasa negative reply and only garnered weak clapping, and sureenough, Miss West Virginia came in as fourth runner-up. MissMaine was third, Miss Georgia was second runner-up and then,"In the event that Miss USA Teen is unable to fulfill her duties the first runner-up will a.s.sume those responsibilities. The firstrunner-up is Karissa Palewski, Miss Arizona, making Susan Col- gate, the new, Miss USA Teen!"

A flash of kisses, flashbulbs and roses. A sash. A scepter. The previous Miss USA Teen, Miss Dawnelle Hunter, formerly MissFlorida USA Teen, emerged from the wings with a platinumtiara which she nested and pinned onto Susan's hair. From allsides came clapping, and a gentle tickle in the small of the backfrom Ken propelled Susan up to the front where she was tomake the briefest of acceptance speeches.

Marilyn was at their table, electrified. The runners-up, or,as Marilyn would say, "the losers," formed a sparkling multi-colored backdrop behind Susan.

The floor calmed.

All was silent.

Susan wondered how to be truthful without giving offense.She said, "Thanks all of you. Thanks so much.

As we know, thisis an important pageant, and winning means a great deal tome." She paused here, looking for words. "And I think one ofthe traits we value most in any Miss USA Teen is honesty. So it's only fair I be honest with you now." She looked at Marilyn, andwaited an extra few seconds for full impact. "The truth is thatI've got my nose in the books these days-I got a C- average inhigh school and I know I can do better than that-I'm eventhinking of applying for college. I simply won't have the time to fulfill my duties as Miss USA Teen. To properly give justice tothe role is a full-time job and requires a girl who can give it a thousand-percent dedication." Susan was winging it now. "It'sonly from winning that I can see how sacred the role of MissUSA Teen is. And so, in the spirit of truth and pageantry, with a clear head and a happy heart I pa.s.s the crown on to KarissaPalewski, Miss Arizona Teen and now, Miss USA Teen. Karissa?"She turned around and beckoned Karissa who, so recently awas.h.i.+n loser's hormones, failed to immediately register her bounty."Please come forward so I can pa.s.s along my crown to you."The sound technicians sloppily cued up Vivaldi's Four Seasons.

Marilyn's tortured "No!" was drowned out in the applause asemcee Ken shrugged and escorted Karissa to Susan for a transferof the tiara, sash, scepter and roses. Mission accomplished. Su-san hopped efficiently off the stage and said to Marilyn, "Sorry,Mom, but this is a jailbreak. I'm no longer your prisoner." Sheleft the banquet room while a confused Trish, justifiably wary ofMarilyn's wrath, darted after her.

A week pa.s.sed in which Susan holed up at the home ofTrish's aunt.

Marilyn and Don were back in Cheyenne, where Don was making pay phone calls to Susan, as he didn't want any telltaleevidence of communiques with Denver on the monthly phonebill. "I've gotta tell you, Sue, your mom's p.i.s.sed as a jar of hor-nets on this one."

Susan could easily imagine Don fumbling with a roll of quar-ters in a booth beside a shoe store. She said, "You know, Don- what else is new? I mean, you're married to her, I'm born to her.Neither of us has any illusions, and I just can't take her any-more. I'm out of high school now. Do you really want me hang-ing around the house for weeks on end with nothing to do butbask in Mom's loving glow?" There was silence on Don's end,and a cash register kachinged in the background. "I thought so.For the time being I'm here with Irish and it's a harmlessenough life. I've got a job flipping dough at Pizza s.l.u.t. It's a start."

"Well, Sue, that sounds good to me." Don possessed no ini-tiative but considered any trace of it in others a good sign."What else is new down there? I used to have a brother in Den-ver. He's in Germany now, Patches Barracks, outside of Stuttgart."

Susan said, "I hang out with Irish by the pool at the Y. She'sinto numerology now. She's changing her name to Dreama." Su-san could sense every fiber of Don's body instantly spasm withboredom. "Not much else, I guess."

"A guy called. From Los Angeles. An agent. Named Mortimer.Larry Mortimer. He says you should give him a call. He readabout your chucking the pageant in the paper." Susan tookdown the number and then she and Don exchanged polite good-byes, both happy to leave the business of what to do tocalm Marilyn to some other call, another day.

A few hours later, Susan and Trish, armed with fake IDs andIrish's aunt's Honda Civic, whooped it up in keggery bars andhot spots, releasing sugary bursts of energy with the fervorand desperation of the young.

The partying went on for twoweeks, after which Irish's aunt Barb suggested the two girls accompany her on a road trip to Los Angeles in her car. Theycould share in the driving duties.

And so they left, and yet again Susan saw and partic.i.p.ated in the country's landscape-hostile, cold and magnificent, dull andglowing. They pulled into Los Angeles around sunset, arriving inRancho Palos Verdes on the coast just as a full moon pulled upover the Pacific. They were just in time for a dinner of sloppyjoes at Barb's friend's house, and they watched the lights ofAvalon over on Catalina sparkling in the distance. Dinner wasalmost ready and adults and teenagers scurried about. Susanfound a quiet den and dialed Larry Mortimer's number. Sheconnected to a personal a.s.sistant and then a few breaths later, Larry was on the line. "Susan Colgate? You're one brave womanto go and quit that pageant the way you did."