Maybe the Moon

her a dangerous look.
    “Don’t be so negative,” she said. “You can make anything work for you.”
    I had the creepy feeling she’d learned this pop wisdom from her Scientologist, but I didn’t say so, knowing how sensitive she was about it. By unspoken mutual consent, we made conversation about the passing scenery, avoiding both her crappy love life and my crappy career, until we finally reached Sunset and she caught sight of the PortaParty van.
    “Gah,” she said, no longer able to contain herself. “It looks really neat.”
    She pulled into the parking lot and opened my door so I couldsee. There were several clowns in a cluster behind the van, sucking on their last preparty cigarettes. One of them, an Emmett Kelly clone in Air Jordans, did an unrehearsed double take when he saw me. Recovering, he hollered to a young black guy crouched on the asphalt in front of a box of party favors.
    Neil Riccarton rose and bounded toward us with a blinding smile. He was wearing gray cotton coveralls, the kind that roustabouts wear at the circus, and the zipper was lowered to reveal an awesome expanse of silken breastbone. I caught my breath at the sight of him. It wasn’t until he spoke that I actually attached this lanky dreamboat to the dorky midwestern voice I’d heard on the phone.
    “You’re Cadence, right?”
    “Right.” I gestured toward Renee, who was standing by the door. “This is my friend Renee.”
    “Hi,” said Neil.
    Renee echoed him, coloring noticeably.
    He turned back to me. “Need a hand there?”
    Normally, when Renee’s around, I let her do the lifting, since she’s accustomed to my weight and its distribution, and there are no rude surprises, but I made an exception in Neil’s case. His big hands slid under my arms with gentle authority, conveying me to the ground in a single hydraulic motion. I thanked him briskly, then hid my distraction by fluffing the ruffles on my sleeves. It took all my willpower to keep from gazing across at his crotch.
    Get a grip , I told myself. Don’t objectify this guy. The black man as superstud is a dehumanizing myth . There was also the chance he was gay, of course, but I seriously doubted it, and my radar in that area is usually pretty good. Fortunately, my unclean thoughts were kept at bay by his bouncy Kevin Costner voice, which made Neil sound like the victim of a bad dubbing job. By focusing on that, I decided, I could get through the day without making an ass of myself.
    Neil turned to Renee. “I’m afraid we’ve only got one place in the van.”
    Renee looked confused, so I jumped in. “She’s not going with me. She’s just my ride.”
    “Oh, I see.”
    Renee gave him the most fetching little smile. That girl’s mind is such an easy read. “I’m going to the Beverly Center,” she said. “It’s my day for that.”
    “Right.”
    “We need to arrange a pickup time,” I told him. “How long do you think this’ll take?”
    Neil’s brow wrinkled. “I’m not sure I can be that exact about it. Five o’clock or so.”
    “I can just wait here,” Renee offered, “if you’re not back by then.”
    “Or”—Neil shrugged, looking at me—“I could drop you off myself.”
    I told him I lived in the Valley.
    “I know,” he said. “So do I.”
    “Really?” It was Renee who said this, and a little too eagerly, I thought.
    “It’s no problem,” said Neil, still looking at me. “I do it for the troupe all the time.”
    The next thing I knew, Renee was gone and I was scrunched up in that van with Neil, three clowns, a shitload of party stuff, and a haggard-looking fairy princess named Julie. A seat would have been wasted on me, so I made a nest out of a pile of painted backdrop. As we tooled down Sunset toward Bel Air, Neil broke the ice by announcing to all and sundry that the newest member of the troupe had made her debut in the movies playing you-know-who.
    “Shit,” said Julie. “I could die tomorrow if I had a role like that.”
    I told her it hadn’t exactly changed my life.
    “Still,” she said, “it’s a legend .”
    One of the guys, a gawky red-whiskered clown named Tread, looked over his shoulder at me and said, “I really got off on that part where Mr. Woods eats the loaded brownie.”
    “And gets the munchies!” said someone else.
    “That was way cool,” said another.
    “They wouldn’t even make that scene now.”
    “Fuck no, man. No fuckin’ way.”
    Neil gave Tread a funny sideways