<<< Back Table of Contents Next >>> 22 Newcomer Coming across the bridge into Portland for the first time, Steve sat next to his friend Jeremy on the extra-wide seat of Jeremy's 1970s sedan. They were talking about music. Predictably, Jeremy insisted that Anton was already a sellout. "He's already mainstream. Even my mom likes Destroyed Teen. 'A little dark, but I can listen to it.' That's what she said. 'He's a decent boy, so serious and intelligent. He writes his own songs?'" They both had to laugh at that. The idea seemed old-fashioned somehow, with Jeremy's mother saying it. "'That's how they do it, Ma,' I told her. 'What do you think, the producers find a pretty face and....'" He stopped, stupefied, and turned to Steve. "Well, do they?" "I don't think that's how it works. It's not convincing. They've tried it, sure, but we'd know if a band was singing lyrics they didn't write themselves." "Anton sings lyrics he didn't write himself." He knew that Steve had a soft spot for Anton. "Anton's different! He's an artist. People ask him to do their songs. He only does it if it has any meaning for him. He doesn't pretend he wrote them." They were coming into the city. Signaling, Jeremy got ready to move off the highway. "You sure you can get to see him?" "Not right away, maybe, but I've got a plan. Give me ten days to track him down. I'll learn his favorite places and wait for him there." Jeremy was his best friend from high school. They'd run off to Portland on a whim. Still, Jeremy didn't know the whole story. He figured they were in Portland on an adventure. They would look for girls and look for work. If it wasn't easy, they would be home in a few days. But for Steve, going back wasn't an option. He'd come to find Anton and that was it. They parked in front of a pancake house they knew from back home. Within minutes, Jeremy had started a conversation with two girls who were sitting in the booth next to them. "We're runaways. We just got here from Texas." "Runways? Cool," said one of the girls. "You came here from Texas?" said the other. "What for?" "Adventure," said Steve. "Learning experience." The girls exchanged a conspiratorial glance. The boys were fresh-faced and charming, and apparently harmless. After a while they left together, piling into Jeremy's car. Sally sat in front next to Jeremy, while Steve sat in back with Lori. They drove to the river, and walked along it holding hands. Lori made remarks about the sunset. It was cold and she was shivering, so Steve put his arm around her clumsily. Jeremy and Sally were already kissing. Once it got dark, they went to a bar where there was dancing. Again, Steve felt that he wasn't connecting with Lori as much as he should. He was distracted by not having Jeremy next to him, because Jeremy was dancing with Sally or deep in conversation with her. Still, Lori was animated and determined to draw him out. She called his deep blue eyes "soulful." The beer made him bolder, and before long they were kissing too. He and Jeremy hadn't given much thought to where they were going to sleep that night. They had blankets in the car, and had slept there on the way out. As the four of them left the bar, it became clear that Sally wanted to take Jeremy home. She and Lori didn't live together, so to solve the problem of what to do with Steve, she prompted Lori to offer him a place to stay. "Lori lives with a bunch of slobs," she said apologetically, "but there's room for you there. Right, Lori? Unless you want to make this poor boy sleep on the street." Jeremy dropped them off at Lori's house, flashing Steve a look of apology as he drove away. Inside, he met her roommates Brian and Chad, college students like her. They teased him at first, but soon warmed to him enough to offer him their bong. Their insinuating glances made Lori nervous, and it was clear he wouldn't be spending the night in her bed. She sat down next to him on the couch, took a hit from the bong and explained to her roommates that he was new in town. "He's from Texas somewhere. Just got in today. His friend hooked up with Sally and left him stranded. So here he is." "Welcome," said Brian. "Make yourself comfortable," said Chad. She soon jumped up again with the words, "I've got class at eight tomorrow. You can sleep on the couch." She reappeared with a blanket, then her door clicked shut. The next morning, she came out of her room while he was putting on his socks. She was cranky because she was still half asleep. She told him how to get into town on his own, and said she wouldn't be home until late that afternoon. He asked where the local musicians played, Anton Dupree for example. "Anton? That guy creeps me out. Brian likes him, but I can't stand him. I don't know, maybe Cosmos? Just go to Zombieland and ask around." After she left, he realized he'd forgotten to ask for Sally's number, so he had no way to contact Jeremy. No matter, he was eager to get on with his quest. He walked to Zombieland. It was still early, so there were only a few people on the streets. He ate breakfast in a cafe, then went outside to have a smoke. As he stood shivering in his jacket because of the cold, two unsavory characters came up to him. They were beery and cantankerous, with stubble on their faces and bizarre clothing. They seemed jovial enough, but he bristled and remained on guard. "What have we here?" said one. "It's a newcomer, Charlie!" said the other. "So it is, Uncle Tom. We've got a newcomer, a new boy." They introduced themselves. "This here's Charlie, Old Charlie. And I'm Uncle Tom. We're old-timers, lifestyle artists in the Beat mode." "You ever meet old-timers like us before?" Charlie asked. Steve shook his head no. "What do you call yourself?" Uncle Tom said. "Steve." "That's all? Just Steve?" "Steve Banning." "Pleased to meet ya. What can we do ya for?" He gave them a blank look. "How may we help you?" Charlie translated. "What may we offer in the way of services? Portland is a city known for its hospitality." "Thanks, but I don't need any help." Charlie turned to his partner. "He must be looking for something. Newcomers always do." He turned back to Steve accusingly. "You're looking for something, ain't ya kid?" "Really, I'm not." The two of them exchanged a look. Charlie propped his hands jauntily on his hips, while Uncle Tom leaned forward slightly, hands behind his back. Charlie clucked his tongue. "You can tell us, kid. I know you didn't come all the way here for nothing. So what can we do ya for, like my colleague said?" It occurred to him that they could really help. Who would know better than two local vagrants if Anton came to Zombieland, and what his routine might be? "Where can I find Anton Dupree?" he blurted. "Where does he play?" "I told you he wants something," Charlie said. "I never said he doesn't." Uncle Tom turned to him. "Anton doesn't do shows. Used to play with his band at New Jerusalem, right there across the street. But it ain't New Jerusalem now, it's closed. Ever since his band broke up, he's gotten kind of private-like. What he does now is make appearances." "Appearances?" "You know, in the clubs. To show everyone he's still glamorous, still the center of attention. And to find someone to sleep with," he said in a leering whisper. Steve blushed. The old-timers put their heads together, discussing Anton's favorite clubs, the ones where Steve would have the best chance of meeting him. He heard the names Cosmos, Club Omaha, the Arena. "Don't send him to the Arena!" said Uncle Tom, horrified. "Anton doesn't go there a lot, anyway," said Charlie. "You in a hurry, kid?" Steve shook his head, unsure what to say. "I think he's in a hurry," said Uncle Tom. "That's no good," Charlie warned him. "You don't want to rush this. You want to think ahead, lie in wait. Catch him at the opportune moment." The words rolled off his tongue. "What do you want, anyway? Just to catch a glimpse? Or do you want to make contact?" "I'd like to say a few words," he confessed. "That could be difficult. You know, he's always on guard against newcomers. But we'll think of something." "If it works, you owe us a favor," said Uncle Tom. "A big favor," said Charlie. They engaged him in a comic staredown. He felt a little happier, a bit less lost. These clownish characters seemed to know about Anton, and they were going to help him. "Sure, if it works..." he said finally. • • • He approached Anton in the dark club, grinning. "You know that song you wrote that begins, 'Let's talk to each other, let's tell each other where we're from'?" "'Delirium creeps in like a fog and I fall into you, fall into you,'" Anton filled in. "Yeah, but that's, let's see, three verses further down! Jumping ahead, that's no fair." "I suppose you know the whole song by heart. Probably better than I do. I only wrote it. In fact, you know all my songs by heart. You collect the bootlegs and remixes, too." Steve blushed. Anton was secretly won over by this, but remained skeptical. "I don't go that far," he said quickly. "I've got a life, only you can't imagine how necessary those songs have been to me, certain times. I remember them, sure. You must get a lot of people like me," he finished in a rapid mumble. "Sure, and most of them are misguided. They come without knowledge, and resent me when I do nothing for them. There was a time when I sought companions through my music, comrades for life even...." He stopped for a moment and stared into Steve's eyes. For the first time his face was less than severe. "Where are you from?" "Elgin, Texas." For most people, Texans were exotic, and not in a good way. They were large and vulgar, even by American standards. Everywhere they went, they loudly mourned Texas, and wished it was more like Texas. People saw this as a turnoff, and he had to agree. He would have hated to run into anyone from Texas in this faraway city. Anton didn't laugh or turn away. "Congratulations! That means you got out of there. It's not an easy place to get out of, I imagine. And you're here for good now?" Steve nodded. "That makes us neighbors, I guess. What's your name?" "Steve." "Anton Dupree." He believed it was polite to introduce himself, even if everyone already knew who he was. "I was in Elgin once," he remembered, "for about two hours. We pumped gas on the way north. We ate donuts, dozed under a tree. It's the sort of place where they give you a ticket for spitting on the sidewalk, am I right?" Steve flushed. "We don't get many visitors." "Must be tough on a kid. How are your famous bricks?" He looked confused. "You've got a sign coming into town that says, 'Elgin, Home of Fine Sausages and Famous Bricks.' And it's made of brick." He had a photographic memory for things like that. Steve nodded rapturously. Anton had been to his hometown, breathed the same air. "We were founded by Germans in the nineteenth century," he said apropos of nothing. Anton looked him over. "Are you...Germanic?" He blushed as if he'd heard a dirty word. "My grandmother was. My grandfather was Irish. He made boots for the Texas Rangers." "The baseball team?" "The police force." They shared a chuckle over that. "And your parents...?" "My mom's a hometown girl. She helped her mom in the kitchen, and when she got married, it was more of the same. The only difference was, now she was the one minding the stove. Of course she's a good Christian." He couldn't believe he was spilling himself to Anton, his idol. "My dad was a military man from back East. Baltimore I think. He came to Texas for a few years and then left again. I hear he made it to captain before he retired." Anton embraced him. "Congratulations again for getting out of there. I don't really see what else a boy like you can do." He fingered a leather peace sign that Steve wore on a thong around his neck. "What does this mean to you?" Steve lowered his eyes. "Where I come from, people constantly give me shit for this. They say, 'You faggot! You want our country to be run by foreigners? Let the Iranians come and make you their bitch, and see how you like it.' Sometimes I say, 'Better them than you.' Sometimes I tell them we're all foreigners here. Mostly I keep my mouth shut, because I don't want to get killed." He touched the peace sign idly. "Here in Portland it's a cliché, I guess. But it still has the power to raise passions in some places." "Is that what you do, raise passions?" Anton said softly. He could see that Steve was quite attractive under his scruffy exterior. Steve laughed with happy embarrassment. "Among other things, I guess." "We all need a little passion." He paused thoughtfully. "You ran away, left clean? No grudges, no regrets?" "No lingering debts!" Steve affirmed. "You came out West hoping to find me, like a kitten chasing a ball of sunshine. You know what I'm talking about? When you open the refrigerator and light bounces across the room?" "Yes, yes." It was a happy image for him. "So how long have you been here? Two weeks? A few days?" "A few days." "And you sleep in the streets? Where do you sleep?" "I came with my friend Jeremy in his car. Then I met this girl Lori...." "So you sleep on her couch? At first you slept with her, but now you feel more comfortable sleeping alone. And her roommates, seeing this boy she brought home, are starting to ask, 'Why is he still here?' And you're thinking it would be better just to sleep in the park." "That's true, all of it! Only I never did sleep with her." He was no longer surprised that he was so transparent to Anton. "I've been through it myself, remember? You know the story. I came here with nothing but my bass and the clothes on my back. In fact, I was completely naked." He beckoned a waitress to bring drinks. "I suppose you spent your last dime to get into this club. I'm sorry. This is as far out in public as I go, evil creature that I am." "Don't call yourself an evil creature! Actually, I've got money. Before I left, my grandpa sent me to the bank to cash a check. I kept the money, five thousand dollars." "Am I the first person you've told this to?" "Sure." "Well, don't tell anyone else. Loose money never lasts long in this town. Don't act like you've got a few thousand dollars to spare. By the way, are you free tonight?" "Huh?" "Do you have any plans tonight with, um, Lori and her friends? A job opening to look into? Anything at all?" "No." "Then it's a date, get it? I'd like the pleasure of your company. If you bore me, I'll know better next time. Otherwise we'll be friends. That's arrogant of me, I know. It could be you who gets bored." "Bored with what?" His head was spinning. "You approached me, didn't you?" Anton was almost angry. "Do you want to be friends or not? In my line of work, you've got to know when to grab the opportunity. If not, you might never get another chance." • • • They were inseparable from that moment on. By hooking up with Anton, Steve had achieved what he'd come to Portland to achieve, and he had no desire to go back. For Anton, Steve was his ideal audience come to life, someone who knew his music and understood it. Best of all, he hadn't felt the usual letdown from meeting Anton in person. It caught Anton off guard to find someone who actually liked him. They spent their first few days together at the studio, living off whatever was on hand, pasta and marinara sauce, ginger cookies and rum. It was the discovery phase, the metamorphosis. When they finally appeared together in public, they were like one being. In the dark corner of a club, Steve dozed on Anton's chest as Anton stroked his hair. People whispered, "That's Anton's new boy." They almost felt sorry for him, because they figured he would soon learn what everyone else had learned about Anton. Kliff walked into the studio one day to find Steve sprawled on the couch, listening to Destroyed Teen on headphones. Anton had just stepped from the shower and was still in the bathroom, studying his face in the mirror. Quickly taking in the situation, Kliff informed him that he would be going out of town for a few days. He gave Steve a dark look on the way out, making it plain that he didn't expect to see him there when he got back. "I don't think he likes me," Steve said when he was gone. "Don't worry about it. He used to live here, but we have our separate ways." "He let himself in. And he was acting like he owns the place." "He thinks he does, but it's not so." Each time they went out together from then on, Steve tried to learn more about Kliff from Anton's friends. Of course he knew that Kliff was Anton's manager, and had been with Anton since the start of his career. To Anton's fans, Kliff was almost as legendary as Anton himself. What he hadn't realized was that the relationship was more than a professional one. It had been a shock to meet Kliff in the flesh and realize that he had a rival. When he discovered that no one wanted to talk to him about it because he was a newcomer, he screwed up his courage to speak to Anton directly. "I wish I'd met you before you hooked up with Kliff," he began. "Why's that?" Anton laughed. "You weren't even in puberty yet." "I mean that if we could've been together like we are now, you might not have needed him. Not all the people who say they're your friends are your friends." "Are you saying Kliff isn't my friend?" "I'm saying you could be more selective." "If I was more selective, you wouldn't be here today. Besides, you have no idea what Kliff and I have been through. How can you judge him?" "You're a smalltown boy like me. You were raised to be polite. 'Pass the potatoes, thank you ma'am.' To a guy like Kliff, that makes you a sucker. Maybe he means well, but he only thinks about his self-interest. He'll hurt you whether he means to or not." Anton made a sound of disgust and turned to go out. He stopped at the door, his back to Steve. "None of this is new," he admitted. "I've had these same thoughts myself." Many times in the past, Kliff had misled him by not telling him the whole story. Even now, it was possible that Kliff was hiding something. Maybe their whole history was one of betrayal. Kliff had seduced him away from Trashtown, away from the Psychic Rangers, away from his past. Because of Kliff, he'd fallen under the influence of the Colonel. "Be careful," Steve was saying. "I don't want to see you to get hurt." "Thanks for the lecture," he said, and went out. He spent the night wandering skid row, playing arcade games and watching a strip show as he pondered what Steve had said. He decided that Steve was right, and Kliff was motivated by self-interest. Kliff was his "best friend in Portland" only because they shared the same ambitions. What would happen if that were no longer true? A few days later, Kliff came back to find Steve still in the space. He told Anton they had to talk. It was Steve's turn to get lost, so he went for a walk along the river and considered his situation. He had no reason to complain. If Anton tossed him out, he would get a hotel room and wait out the storm. Eventually, Anton would take him back. Back at the studio, Anton went on the attack. "Why are you here? Why are you poking your nose into things?" "Don't I live here? You never told me to leave." "Maybe it's time for that. I thought it was obvious to you that things between us aren't like they were. You're usually quick to pick up on that sort of thing. So don't bullshit me. You're here because of Steve, right? You were hoping he'd be gone, but he isn't." "It's true, I wasn't expecting it. It's gotten more serious than a one-night fling." "What's that got to do with you?" "Are we still lovers?" "That's officially over. Do you want it in writing?" "Then as your manager, it's my job to warn you." "Warn me about what? You've always tried to interfere in things that don't concern you. Like what clubs I should visit. Who should interview me. How to package my album. What clothes I should wear. Now you want to mess with my love life too?" "In this business, details matter. Don't you like how I'm doing my job?" He waved his arm around the studio with its gadgets and finery. "What part of your success aren't you happy with?" "Don't get me started. I've lost my friends. I've lost my principles. I've been lured into situations where I'm way over my head. Now that I've managed to find one true thing in all this chaos, you want to take it away." "You mean Steve? What makes you think he's true?" Anton blinked. "Think of what you represent to him. You're the catch of a lifetime. You're everything a kid like him could want. He came out of nowhere, and suddenly he has access to fame and fortune beyond his wildest imaginings. If I were in his position, I'd do the same thing." "Do what, exactly?" "Move in, take over." "That's what you did." "There's a difference between him and me. I've had time to prove myself to you. It's been an even exchange. When we met, we were at the same level. I put my faith in you and it paid off. For him to step in with the game already won...to me that's cheating." "You think he's taking advantage?" "Damn straight." "He said the same thing about you." He gave a raucous laugh. "That only proves how he thinks." Anton rubbed his eyes. "You always do this to me. Confuse right and wrong, make me think you're the noble one. You're just trying to protect your turf." "You're not my turf, you're my friend. Maybe it looks suspect to you, but through all these years, all I've wanted is to make you happy." Anton shook his head in confusion. "Forgive me, Kliff. Life is getting incredibly difficult and complex for me, I just.... When I met you, I thought you were nothing but a kid who knew the ropes a little. And I had ambitions of my own, as you know. So we made a pact. I wanted to be glorious in your eyes, did you know that? I guess it worked, because now I'm a star. But things were simpler for us then, don't you think? You loved me for my potential, and potential is the one thing I've lost. Never again will I be unknown. Never again will I have a shot in the dark. Would you be with me today if I was still nobody?" "Anton...." "What we've done together is a delicious conspiracy. I've grown in your eyes because you were there. The satisfaction you felt, watching me rise, you never hid from me. You led me by the hand through dangerous mazes I would never have attempted alone. But now I'm ready for something else completely." Kliff was seeing a dimension to the problem he hadn't noticed before. "This is more than a passing phase, isn't it? You don't trust me any more to look after your interests." "I know I should trust you, but something's changed in me. There's things I need to do for myself." "All right. Stay with Steve if you like. I wish it was different, because in the state you're in, you could get hurt." He turned to go. "If you need me, call me back. And good luck with everything." "You mean this is it?" "If that's what you want." Anton walked over and took Kliff's chin in his hand. He stared into his eyes with a troubled look. After a while, he let him go. On his way down the stairs, Kliff tapped his cane against the wall in a pensive rhythm. He'd always been the survivor, but now he was like the rest. Anton's mixture of self-love and self-loathing drove people away. He'd shielded Anton by remaining with him. Now Anton didn't want to be shielded any more. It seemed that Anton was on a downward spiral, and he decided to stand clear. He would intervene only if he had to, at the last minute. He pushed open the front door and let it swing shut behind him. He saw Steve coming along the sidewalk, looking skittish and forlorn. Perhaps he'd been waiting in a doorway across the street. They stood facing each other a moment. "Go on up," he told the newcomer. "He's all yours." • • • It was a golden period for Anton. He'd found a companion who was innocent in the same way he was. Steve as a wanderer in a heartless world, a kid who had grown up in a place where nothing was authentic, and had suffered from the pressure to fit in. Like Anton, he'd come to Portland to get away from all that. They'd cut themselves off from their respective pasts so they could live without limits. The difference was that Steve still had the sense of wonder Anton had lost long ago. He found a job at a bookstore, and started classes at the local community college. They amused themselves by going for drives along the coast, or to hot springs and volcanoes. Anton helped support Steve so he could live more comfortably than he otherwise would, but they agreed that Steve should provide for himself as much as possible. He got an apartment of his own downtown, and Anton discovered that he liked being there better than at his remote studio. Sitting in an armchair by the window while Steve was away at class, he worked on the concept of his next album, The Last Assassin. The idea had come to him long ago, during the Fever Dreams tour, when Sabrina was stalking him and he was slowly becoming aware of Reinhold's hidden network. At the time, thanks to Trashtown's rebellious energy and his sudden, secret fame, he'd imagined himself as a teenage assassin who dedicated himself to a deadly plot. He hadn't known what to do with the idea so he'd set it aside, but now he understood the story he wanted to tell. The Last Assassin was a typical Reinhold recruit, fiercely loyal to his cause, never questioning what he was asked to do. He served an organization that offered him an escape from his past, and hints of pleasure and glory to come. He accepted missions and performed them boldly. Yet although he organized his life around a higher purpose, he began to have doubts. Offered the assassin's paradise, he rebelled against his commander and refused the garden. He chose to become an outcast and remain free. Anton decided that in telling this story, he would call Colonel Reinhold by name. He would describe the Citadel and its invisible hand behind events. He would mention the volunteers, the scouts, the referees. He wanted to warn his fans about the Citadel's hidden influence, and inoculate Reinhold's young recruits against the garden. He hoped that like the Last Assassin, they would have the courage to say no. Without new volunteers, the Colonel's network would stop expanding and start to wither. In time, it could be shaken off like the dead thing it was. It was Steve who inspired him to think this way, because he wanted to protect Steve. As his companion, Steve was sure to draw the attention of the Citadel. He didn't want Steve to be caught in Reinhold's snares. As he wrote songs for the album, he imagined himself and Steve together in the role of the Last Assassin. They would perform missions and learn from the Citadel. Courageous and forewarned, they would outwit any traps. In the end, they would rebel against the Colonel and lead the resistance. He kept the lyrics to The Last Assassin in his head, or in a notebook he always kept with him. He recorded his musical ideas whenever he was at the studio. Steve felt lucky to be a witness to this creative process, but Anton's behavior was strange to him. He would jump up from the desk where he'd been frantically jotting, pace the room for a few minutes, then go to the console and put on headphones. He would listen to tapes until he'd found what he was looking for, sit on a stool with his guitar, and spend an hour or so playing the same riff over and over. By the time spring arrived, he was impatient to record the album. He expected it to be a milestone in his career, and he wanted the best musicians. He thought about making up with Blake and Vince. They'd kept in touch through intermediaries, especially Kliff. They still had plenty of common interests, such as how to divide the profits on their albums, or whether to collaborate with Farnham T. Sparks when he was making a documentary about their early days. Each of them still had strong feelings about the breakup, but perhaps attitudes had cooled enough to make talk of a reunion possible. Still, something was needed to break the ice, and Anton didn't know what. On the other hand, he was afraid of inviting collaborators into the project. Once he did that, word would get out about what he was doing. As soon as the Colonel discovered what the album was about, there would be trouble. Better to stall that moment as long as possible. He imagined himself recording The Last Assassin in a secret hideaway, far from the Colonel's prying eyes. After hesitating for a time, paranoia won out. Instead of recruiting a band, he planned his escape. The first step would be to talk it over with Steve. One Saturday morning after breakfast, they went to the Portland Zoo. They looked at bears, elephants and giraffes. People walked by, talking about football and the weather. "Tourists," Steve spat contemptuously. It was the worst insult he knew. "That's pretty original for a Gomer," Anton laughed. Gomer was the name they used for the gangly, neurotic mutants who lived in America's swamps and briar patches. "I'm not a Gomer, I'm a style queen! Gomers hunt me for food." "Should I call you Bambi, then?" "That kind of fits." "But a style queen?" Anton narrowed his eyes. "Is that what you want? Showing off, making the scene? To be honest, I'm sick of that. We go to clubs, flirt with groupies and paparazzi. Before you showed up, I was trying to figure out how to get out, start over from zero. And I'm still wondering." "Start over from zero?" "Disappear, just like that." He snapped his fingers. "Where to?" "Somewhere they don't know me." "There's no such place!" "Indonesia? Kenya? Backwater, Idaho?" "I have an aunt in Idaho...." "Wanna come?" Steve felt dizzy. He was just getting used to his new life, and it was too soon to pull up stakes. Still, he couldn't imagine being without Anton. He took a deep breath. "I'll do it for you, of course. Just say the word." <<< Back Table of Contents Next >>>