Clem climbed back into the van. Scott was listening to a tape on the stereo, "Have you heard of the Sex Gang Children? They're really interesting."

Clem reached forward and turned the power off, "Scott, you've just been beaten up and humiliated in front of your mother and sister-"

"My half-sister"

"Whatever she is. I don't see how you can possibly care about some rock band right now. I have all of your stuff in this van and I am having real reservations about taking it back to my house. I want to try and take it to your mother's or Scott's or Emory's," Jesus, if Scott's home life was this demented Clem could only imagine what his friends' lives were like.

"Can't do that right now. Listen, I'm serious, the stuff will be out of your house in two weeks."

"Well, this Derek guy seems to think that that's your modus operandi in getting to mooch off of many a couch and be a permanent house guest. You said he was your roommate, did you pay rent?"

"Of course I paid rent. He worked for my mother and told her he was looking for a roommate. I paid rent. His girlfriend Charlene hated me. She loved that Oreo action and probably stole his records to look like I did it."

Clem paused. Who was lying here? He started up the van and watched another plume of black cloud rise and dissipate in the trees.

"Where does your mother live? She invited us over for lemonade and I would feel better if we could dump some stuff off there."

Scott stared out the window and murmured, "she'd only sell it."

"Your mother would sell your stuff?"

"I never had a Dad, right? She needs money any way she can get it. That's why Derek works for her."

Clem wondered what that meant. As if reading his thoughts, Scott answered, "Yup, she slept with the nigger. That's why I got to live there as his roommate."

Clem wanted to hit Scott and tell him to quit saying 'Nigger' but a certain cycle of violence might be instigated that Clem wouldn't be able to control. Instead of responding to this craziness, Clem started driving, "Where does she live?"

Scott directed them the five blocks to her identically creepy building complex, this one with an empty pool and a huge parking lot full of spent rubber tire tracks from bored youths burning their cars out there. A few were crowded around the engine compartment of a primer gray Chevy Impala. They locked up the van and Scott led them up to her apartment. He had his own key and let himself in.

The apartment was dark, the blinds pulled. The first thing Clem noticed was several velvet paintings with Jesus on it. What denomination of church did she belong to? There were no references in the scriptures to black velvet. Upon closer inspection, Clem realized that it was the exact same painting in different sizes. They hung in the hallway, the living room and right next to the front door. Scott ran up the stairs calling for her. Clem looked at all of the Jesus porcelain figures lying on the table in the hallway

Clem was leaning over to examine a perpetual calendar that spelled out JESUS SAVES with magnets when Mrs. Laine came down alone, tying her robe tightly,"Scott is getting some of his things together," she said quietly, "and Daphne is napping." She saw what Clem was looking at and inquired, "Have you found Jesus, Clem?"

Clem lied, "Yes, I have."

"That's good, that's real good. You know, Scott's father was a horrible man. He was just horrible." She leaned close to him in confidence, whispering, "he made pornography. When I could no longer tolerate the things he had done, I divorced him and I discovered Jesus."

Clem looked down at Mrs. Laine. The scarf was gone and her glasses were off. In the dark she seemed rather attractive, her hair produced a musky odor Clem couldn't quite place.

"Ah, Mrs. Laine-"

"Dinah. Call me Dinah, Clem" she reached out and held his hand.

"Dinah, I have come here once again to see if you couldn't hold some of Scott's stuff. That incident today has convinced me that Scott shouldn't store his stuff at my place, I don't want him living with me and I have roommates that will undoubtedly object."

"No one's asking you to live with him. He just needs a little help right now," she led him to the couch and sat him down, kneeling in front of him as if in prayer, "I had Scott when I was a very young woman, too young to realize what child rearing really meant. Scott's father mistreated Scott badly. Really mistreated him. I know the Lord will forgive me for some of the mistakes I made as a young teenage mother but that boy is 27 years old! He cannot live with me anymore," she looked up at Clem.

Clem was feeling uncomfortable. Her robe had opened slightly and her pendulous breasts were revealed by its folds. She leaned closer to whisper some more, "I am a virtuous woman now and I know how to reward those who follow the true path of the Lord. Help me and my boy get through these next two weeks and you will have our sincere thanks and our prayers will guide you all the way to the afterlife."

Her eyes held his for a long moment. Scott's footsteps descended down from upstairs.

"Mom! Did you give Daphne some of my videos?"

Dinah stood up and straightened her robe, cool as a cucumber, "Honey, I can't remember. What videos?"

"I saw some in her collection that I used to have."

"I don't know, dear, look through your box for the same ones, maybe there are duplicates," Scott disappeared upstairs. She returned to Clem and clasped both of his hands, "I am sure that Scott will mature faster if he has friends as well-mannered and as polite as you," she leaned closer and whispered, "Let me show you something," and led him down the hall to a bedroom.

---

Jesus and Mary carpets hung on the walls. The bed was unmade and clothes littered the floor. The air was thick with stale air and unopened windows. The blinds looked to be permanently drawn. She stood before her dresser and opened the bottom drawer. Under a pile of papers she removed a magazine and held it up to Clem. He took it and perused it in the dim light. Lance, a hardcore porno mag from 1959. Clem didn't even know they allowed penetration in magazines back then. This must have been highly illegal. The photography, printing and paper were of poor quality. Dinah stood next to him and flipped through to the right page.

"That's me. Horrible, isn't it?" she said, pointing to a young woman lovingly caressing a peach between her breasts. Clem was shocked. He looked up from the pages to see her smiling at him. Twenty-five years had passed from grainy centerfold photo to this shabby bedroom time frame. An awkward moment passed. He looked to the next page and she was there again, bent-over, smiling between her knees upside down at the camera and brandishing a white dildo. He closed the magazine and held it out to her, "Mrs. Laine, I really have to go right now. Please."

She smiled indulgently. She took the magazine and placed it back into the drawer. She faced him directly and placed her hands gently on his chest, fumbling with his lapel, eyes locked to his. He noticed that her robe had loosened again and her cleavage caught his eye. She whispered,

"My family will forever be indebted to you if you help us out, Clem. We are not asking for charity, just some Christian assistance through these hard times. I can make things nice."

She touched his chin lightly and walked out leaving Clem in the bedroom. He followed her to the hallway.

Scott was surrounded by ten other identical crates full of more stuff. What was this? Clem pulled himself up, "Scott, I was hoping we could leave some stuff here, not pick this stuff up."

Scott looked at him sheepishly, "Mom says if I don't get it out of here she's going to sell it."

Clem looked over at Dinah. She knelt before the altar with a velvet Jesus and started praying to the Lord, her eyes shut and her murmuring lips barely audible. Scott put a finger to his lips and motioned Clem to pick up a crate. Clem shrugged and lifted.

Out at the van, Clem was depressed, "Scott, this is totally out of control. You get beaten by your roommate and your mother threatens to sell your stuff-"

"My mom is a manipulative woman, Clem, don't let yourself get involved with her, please."

"Get involved with her? She was showing me her personal smut portfolio in there. And what's with the Christian trip?"

"Oh, she's a Christian alright. She works at the church as a secretary. I'll bet she blows the pastor every morning."

Clem felt unclean and decided to drop the subject. He told Scott to go in and get the rest, he would pack it up. Although quite thirsty, Clem decided it would be unwise to pursue the offer of lemonade. When the van was completely full, he and Scott climbed in. As he pulled away, he saw the curtain open and Daphne look out and wave. She clutched Daisy in her hand. Back at his house, Clem was wondering what to tell his roommate Stewart. Scott was loading the crates into a corner of the spacious living room. Clem loaded a bong hit and took a toke. Sociology class was now history.

"What's in all of those crates, Scott?"

"Magazines, tapes. D'you like porn?"

The question made Clem wince, "What did your father do, Scott?"

Scott looked at him, "Why do you ask?"

"Your mother said he was a pornographer. Is this true?"

"Yeah, he died a few years ago in LA. I was living with him at the time."

"How'd he die?"

"Fell off a roof."

"Fell off a roof? Or pushed off a roof? Who was your Dad?"

"Murray Laine. Here," Scott lifted some crates and pulled forth a box full of Murrayabilia. Contact sheets, glossy 8x10s and yellowed magazines spilled forth.

"Here he is," Scott thrust forth a photo of a smiling balding gentleman with a mutton chop mustache circa 1975, surrounded by scantily clad women at what looked like a convention or trade show.

"Your Dad was a mover and shaker wasn't he?"

"He got me my first lay. Here she is," another photo, this one with a stain on it. Clem handled it gingerly, "Remember Seika? She was my first fuck."

Clem had no idea who 'Seika' was or whether anything anyone had told him that day was true. He returned the photo and picked up the copy of Lance that Scott's mother had tantalized him with. He flipped to the page but it was pasted shut along the gutter of the magazine. Clem dropped the magazine without saying anything.

"Do you think your Dad was murdered?" Clem asked earnestly.

"Maybe. He hung around with a lot of people. Some of them famous."

Clem's roommate Stewart wandered in and looked at Scott and all of the crates, "What's up?"

Clem stood up and surveyed the scene, "Stewart this is Scott. He got thrown out of his house today and asked if he could store some of his stuff here for a couple of weeks. I said I had to ask you," Clem said this last sentence with a pleading in his eyes. Stewart missed it completely.

"Fine with me. Don't we need a new roommate when Carl splits? And besides, I'm thinking of going to Mexico in a month or so. Does he have any friends who would like to sublet?"

"Sure!" Scott piped up. Clem felt the situation unfolding itself beyond his grasp. Stewart retreated to his room and left the two of them in the living room.

"Was he serious?" Scott asked," I mean, about moving in? And subletting? I would love to live here if that's possible. And I know Emory could use a sublet."

"Emory? I thought the two of you were getting a place together?"

"Emory talks but we don't have the money together yet and we could save money while living here. Besides, he's got a girlfriend and he won't be here that much."

Emory had a girlfriend? Did any of these guys ever get laid? "Emory has a girlfriend?"

"Yeah, she's ugly but he ain't complaining. I've gotten him all the ass he's ever had, including her. He has a - shall we call it - deformity and most chicks don't dig that."

Scott walked over to Clem's guitar and picked it up appreciatively, "How much is this guitar worth?" The strap slid over his shoulders and he looked at the instrument in his hands.

Clem felt sick. He couldn't bring himself to answer.

"Y'know, Clem, I was thinking of taking up the guitar. Do you think you could give me some lessons?" he plucked out six open strings.

Clem knew he had to confront Scott.

"Look, I don't think you have been up front today with me at all. That guy Derek wasn't a roommate. He was someone whose hospitality to you had run out. You're a professional couch crasher and I don't think you should stay here at all, as a permanent roommate or even as a sublet."

"You're not serious are you? I don't have anywhere really." Scott slipped the guitar and inexpertly placed it against its amplifier, letting it slip to the floor with a crash. Clem walked over and placed it properly on the guitar stand.

"But you promised me you would be out of here in two weeks into a place with Emory and now you say he has no intention of doing that."

"I didn't say that. I just said he would rather move in with his girlfriend but he would if I came up with a place first and I think I have found it. I would just rather live here with you, Clem, and so would Emory. This house is great. You don't want me to live here, Clem?"

"I don't know what I want Scott. I just don't want you to be an eternal house guest like Derek warned you would be."

"That Nigger lies all day. He lied to me, and he lied to my mom."

"Scott will you please stop calling him Nigger? It really offends me."

"Sorry."

Clem escaped into the kitchen and started preparing himself a sandwich. While he was toasting the bread, Scott was re-arranging his stuff and putting his crates of tapes next to the stereo. Looking out the kitchen window, Clem spied two familiar characters walk up the driveway, one with foreshortened arms.

"Hey, Clem," they waved as they entered. Clem dumbly waved back. They immediately sat down and filled a pipe with weed and started smoking it with Scott. Their hushed voices babbled in the next room as Scott voiced his outrage over his treatment by Derek.

Clem took his sandwich wrapped in a paper towel and a cup of cold coffee lightened with the last of the milk and escaped to the front yard. He grabbed a lawn chair from the front porch and dragged it out onto the "lawn", the expanse of dirt the landlord in the back regularly parked his utility vehicles on.

Clem sat down. He took a bite of his sandwich and sighed. Cars passed by, music pulsated from the living room. He looked down at the ground and focused on a line of red ants marching across the arid soil. As crumbs fell from his lap, the line of ants convulsed. Soon ants would arrive to pick up the food. And they did, hauling crumbs and rejoining their formation only to disappear into a mound next to the sidewalk. Miniature Scott Laines all humbly hauling their possessions to colonize some other poor Nigger's house.

The sky had cleared up and the sun was out in force. Clem reached in his shirt pocket and retrieved his sunglasses. Popping out onto the dirt fell a tiny cartoon religious pamphlet. Clem recognized the publisher of the tract (Clem had a collection of these) and he had a pretty good idea how it came into his possession. The title begged:

"Who are the Real Christians?"

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