The Dream Life of Astronauts by Patrick Ryan Read Free Book Online Page A

rivers of mayonnaise ran down her temples. “I knew you wanted something. Do you have any idea what a hassle it is to keep up a car? I break my back in that steak house five nights a week to keep this piece of junk going. I’m an adult now, you know. I’ve got responsibilities and a livelihood to consider.”
    “Okay,” Frankie said. “But I have to get to Clark’s house in Cocoa. Can I borrow it—just this once?”
    She narrowed her eyes, still glaring. “Hold out your arms.” He did and she spritzed them both, elbow to wrist, with Armor All. “No,” she said, turning back to the dash.
    He examined the shellac-like coating on his skin as it glistened and dried in the sun, and decided he didn’t mind it. He still needed a car, though.
    His mother was in her pod, but the door was open, so he stuck his head in. She was on her knees in front of her closet, surrounded by shoes.
    “Are you going anywhere tonight?” he asked.
    She started, then returned her attention to the shoes. “I hope not.”
    “Can I borrow your car?”
    “What for?”
    “Clark’s taking me to dinner, but I have to get to his house first.”
    “Do I know Clark?”
    “He’s the astronaut I told you about. The one who I was with yesterday at the Space Center.”
    “It seems like you’re spending an awful lot of time with Clark. Is this a—dating thing?”
    “Nah,” Frankie said. Not long after he’d reached puberty, he’d told his family, Melissa, and anyone else who would listen that he was gay, and while Karen liked to tease him about it, his mother had asked them all not to bring it up—though she brought it up herself from time to time.
    “And he doesn’t seem like a felon?”
    Frankie shook his head.
    “Well.” She picked up two brown shoes and studied them, discovered they didn’t match and dropped them onto the carpet. “Be back by eleven, and replace the gas you use.”
    Later that afternoon, he sat on the kitchen counter and called Melissa.
    “There’s this Pepper person who answered the phone when I called his house,” he said. “I asked Clark about her, and he told me she was ‘top-of-the-line.’ You think it could be his daughter?”
    “Did she sound like a grown-up?”
    “Kind of.”
    “Could be his wife.”
    “My sister still thinks he’s trying to have sex with me. Maybe he’s gay and it’s some big secret?”
    “Maybe he’s AC/DC,” Melissa speculated. “There
are
people like that, you know—bisexuals. I should be bi, now that I think about it. It would double my chances. Did I tell you I ate an entire package of Fig Newtons for lunch?”
    “I think he at least likes me,” Frankie said.
    “There are even people who are into
fat
people. They only want to get naked with fat human beings. I should find out if they have a club and join it.”
    “You’re not fat. You just have a bad self-image.”
    “Well, if I
am
fat, I hate myself, and if I’m not, it means not even the people in those clubs will want me.”
    He changed T-shirts three times, settling on a purple one with David Bowie on the front. Dusk was just under way when he backed his mother’s Oldsmobile out of the driveway and drove over the bridge into Cocoa.
    —
    C lark’s house was on River Road, across from the island. The yard needed mowing and the paint on the shutters was flaking off, but it was a nice, two-story house with a front porch and windows that looked out over the Indian River. Frankie parked next to the Trans Am, checked his hair in the rearview mirror, then walked up the steps and rang the bell.
    The door opened a few moments later and a woman stood next to it, eyeing him. She wore jeans and a sleeveless white shirt that buttoned up the front. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was pretty and young-looking—though not young enough to be Clark’s daughter.
    “You must be Frankie,” she said.
    He nodded.
    “I’m Pepper. Come in.” He stepped past her as she turned and hollered up the