beauty her jaw correction and nose job had loaned her. And then, looking through the lights, one face opened up through the optical fog — a face that broke through and became disembodied from all others in the auditorium. It was Eugene — the trash man! — and he was looking at Susan with the same wise, knowing face as his 8-X-10 head shot. Her eyes linked with his, and for the first time in her life she felt sexual. She didn't just put on the pose, she felt
naked,
proudly naked, and she pulled her shoulders back as if to give more of herself to Eugene. She was being judged, and she knew she was coming out ahead.
Eugene, meanwhile, looked at Susan. He wondered how he could have overlooked this scrumptious little gazelle at a previous competition.
Für Elise
? Hell, she could play «Chopsticks» with a spatula and he'd vote for her. He pointed at Susan and then back at himself, smiled broadly with film-star teeth, then winked with the force of a blazing iron scorching linen.
Susan heard music and she heard her name. And then a tiara landed on her head and she felt the reassuring cool fluttering sensation of the winner's sash draped from her right shoulder.
Afterward, when the crowds had dispersed, Susan tried to locate Eugene amid the vanishing crowds under the ruse of looking for another show dog, Janelle, from Hawthorne, California.
«Janelle?» asked Marilyn. «You
hate
Janelle.»
«I don't hate anybody, Mom.»
«
Janelle
hid your left pump in Spokane two years ago.»
«They didn't prove that.»
«Winning seems to make you so charitable. Testy, too.»
«I'm
not
testy.» But she did feel nervous. She was panicking, as her eyes darted about looking for Eugene. Her stomach felt like a kite that was having trouble getting airborne.
«Of
course
not, sweetie. Oh,
look
— there she is over there …»
«Where?» Confused, Susan snapped her head in the direction her mother had pointed to. No Eugene there.
«Gotcha.»
«Oh
Mom.
»
«Don't worry, sweetie. Whatever's going on, I'm not going to press it tonight. You're a champion.»
Chapter Twelve
Susan felt the heat from the cooling cheeseburgers slithering from the trash bag beside her. Having recovered from the explosive clamp of the dumpster's lid, her ears now registered her own slow breathing and the rustle of the bagged trash looming above her like a potential Nerf avalanche. The
smell
— that was the strongest sensation, sickly sweet — ketchup, buns, fish, beef and potato mingled with their greases and liquids, varnishing the metal beneath her shoes.
There was no light, and in its absence, the shapes she touched burst forth on her fingertips like crippled fireworks. She was hungry, but her repulsion for the dead food overrode her hunger. She tried shrinking herself, like a bird caught inside a house. And then she relaxed. A bit.
She tried to make a seat for herself, batting her hands out into the trash bags and locating a springy one full of paper cups, foam clamshell containers and paper napkins. She sat on the bag in her corner. The smells around her were not diminishing, and her nose refused to acclimatize the way it would around a barnyard's manure. The smell wasn't enough to gag her, but it refused to be ignored.
Her hunger grew worse, but the thought of eating one of the burgers cooling around her made her retch. She was thirsty, and the energy bars in her travel bag tasted like paste and required water to eat. She reached for her bag — her bag! She'd dropped it onto the concrete under the dumpster when the workers came by. She warbled with regret.
Hours passed.
Now she was unbearably hungry. She crumbled, and reached for one of the unsold burgers, its heat gone, recognizable as new only because of its wrapping. She ate it with as much gusto as she might eat Styrofoam packing peanuts.
Her mouth felt like the inside of a catcher's mitt. She ripped open the bag beneath her and rooted through its contents until she came upon a waxed paper cup
naked,
proudly naked, and she pulled her shoulders back as if to give more of herself to Eugene. She was being judged, and she knew she was coming out ahead.
Eugene, meanwhile, looked at Susan. He wondered how he could have overlooked this scrumptious little gazelle at a previous competition.
Für Elise
? Hell, she could play «Chopsticks» with a spatula and he'd vote for her. He pointed at Susan and then back at himself, smiled broadly with film-star teeth, then winked with the force of a blazing iron scorching linen.
Susan heard music and she heard her name. And then a tiara landed on her head and she felt the reassuring cool fluttering sensation of the winner's sash draped from her right shoulder.
Afterward, when the crowds had dispersed, Susan tried to locate Eugene amid the vanishing crowds under the ruse of looking for another show dog, Janelle, from Hawthorne, California.
«Janelle?» asked Marilyn. «You
hate
Janelle.»
«I don't hate anybody, Mom.»
«
Janelle
hid your left pump in Spokane two years ago.»
«They didn't prove that.»
«Winning seems to make you so charitable. Testy, too.»
«I'm
not
testy.» But she did feel nervous. She was panicking, as her eyes darted about looking for Eugene. Her stomach felt like a kite that was having trouble getting airborne.
«Of
course
not, sweetie. Oh,
look
— there she is over there …»
«Where?» Confused, Susan snapped her head in the direction her mother had pointed to. No Eugene there.
«Gotcha.»
«Oh
Mom.
»
«Don't worry, sweetie. Whatever's going on, I'm not going to press it tonight. You're a champion.»
Chapter Twelve
Susan felt the heat from the cooling cheeseburgers slithering from the trash bag beside her. Having recovered from the explosive clamp of the dumpster's lid, her ears now registered her own slow breathing and the rustle of the bagged trash looming above her like a potential Nerf avalanche. The
smell
— that was the strongest sensation, sickly sweet — ketchup, buns, fish, beef and potato mingled with their greases and liquids, varnishing the metal beneath her shoes.
There was no light, and in its absence, the shapes she touched burst forth on her fingertips like crippled fireworks. She was hungry, but her repulsion for the dead food overrode her hunger. She tried shrinking herself, like a bird caught inside a house. And then she relaxed. A bit.
She tried to make a seat for herself, batting her hands out into the trash bags and locating a springy one full of paper cups, foam clamshell containers and paper napkins. She sat on the bag in her corner. The smells around her were not diminishing, and her nose refused to acclimatize the way it would around a barnyard's manure. The smell wasn't enough to gag her, but it refused to be ignored.
Her hunger grew worse, but the thought of eating one of the burgers cooling around her made her retch. She was thirsty, and the energy bars in her travel bag tasted like paste and required water to eat. She reached for her bag — her bag! She'd dropped it onto the concrete under the dumpster when the workers came by. She warbled with regret.
Hours passed.
Now she was unbearably hungry. She crumbled, and reached for one of the unsold burgers, its heat gone, recognizable as new only because of its wrapping. She ate it with as much gusto as she might eat Styrofoam packing peanuts.
Her mouth felt like the inside of a catcher's mitt. She ripped open the bag beneath her and rooted through its contents until she came upon a waxed paper cup
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