The Trickster Diaries/Chapter 28
All of a sudden from out of nowhere the bloodiest blood moon stared straight at us, suspended just over the desert horizon.
Shana: (Almost screaming) OH MY GOD Robert!
Me: Jesus! Shana, you scare me when you do that.
Her eyes danced immediately to my boner—always an instantaneous and quite uncontrollable consequence, (along with sudden fear), of her shock reaction to unexpected events, internal insights, etc..
Shana: (Smiling, eyes going back to the moon) Oh my god is it fucking REAL?! Wait. Can we get out of the car?
I pulled over, cut the lights, engine.
Ding, ding, ding, ding…
Then perfect, absolute silence as we stood there.
Shana: (Taking my hand) I’ll never forget this, Robert.
Just then the doorbell rang, back in real time. My fantasy ended. It was the real Shana. She’d know instantly something was wrong. My eyes were bloodshot and watery from all the tests.
Shana: Oh shit what’s wrong have you been crying?!
Me: Eye doctor. Bad news.
The reverse of what I’d imagined happening was happening. It was I who had to console her, not the other way around. Same pullover cotton mini dress as in the fantasy. No underwear.
We woke up hours later to the sound of Don walking up the creaky old stairs outside my bedroom door.
Shana: (Yawning) I have to use your toothbrush. Wait. Did you trick me? I had such good news… oh, shit, I never even told you.
Me: No. No tricks. What news?
Shana: I—I mean we, I hope—have this outside job tomorrow. Planting a garden for this lady in Santa Monica. She’s in the art class I’m modeling for.
Me: Yeah? Good.
Me: Uh huh. Sounds like fun. And then, if you want, I’m going out to Joshua Tree tomorrow night.
Shana: Um. My boyfriend…
Me: No. He can’t come along.
Shana: I know. I didn’t mean that. We’re supposed to hang out…
She giggled as the index and middle finger of my right hand walked from her sternum up her neck, then ear, mouth, nose.
Shana: (Laughing) STOP IT, Robert!
Me: Shh… (pointing to the ceiling). Don. Remember?
Shana: Fuck Don.
Then, before I could stop her, she sat up, cupped her hands around her face and yelled at the ceiling: “HEY DON!” Seconds later a faint voice responded:
Shana: It’s me, Shana! Me and Robert are trying to screw down here, so could you please keep it down?!
Nothing. Then that same creaking noise on the stairs outside my bedroom door. A gentle knock: “Shana?”
“Could you please tell Bob—Robert, I mean—that for as long as he can keep it up, I promise to keep it down?”
“Deal,” said Shana. “Now go back to your room.”