Read Online Dermaphoria by Craig Clevenger - Free Book Online Page A

best friend since she saved me from three brothers, five sisters and no father.”
    “Sad story.”
    “But typical.”
    “And you’re clean?”
    “You mean tapeworms? I’m clean. Desiree sees to that.” Otto dropped his pants and hiked up his shirt. He did not ask me to return the courtesy.
    “What does that mean?” I asked.
    “Just what I said.”
    “What’s your relationship with her?”
    “You and I have business, buddy. Piles of cash with our names on it.” He buckled his belt. “Quit sniffing my ass and speak English.”
    “Are you now, or have you ever been, sexually involved with Desiree?”
    “No. Not even close. She’s got nice legs, I’ll give her that. But she’s not my type. She takes care of me and I look after her. I’m protective, that way. If you want her, make your move, but you’d be wise to ditch the jealousy. It’ll cloud your thinking. Besides, she doesn’t know you made this stuff, and you’re never going to tell her.” He tapped the mirror, sending silver ripples through the glass.
    “This is good,” he said.
    “You see what I see?”
    “Yes. What do you call it?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Mad Hatter,” said Otto.
    “I’m not following you.”
    “The best batch in the world won’t go anywhere without a good name. If you’re ever at a loss, you can’t go wrong with a reference to Alice.”
    “Thanks for the advice.”
    “Can you do it again?”
    “These were an experiment. I was trying something different.”
    “A fortunate mistake. Can you do it again?”
    “Of course. I’m just not set up for it. What little gear I’ve got has miles of wear on it, and the rest is hacked together from scrap.”
    I was using athletic water bottles for sep funnels. Junk stores and yard sales had yielded three vintage chemistry sets from which I’d salvaged lab-grade glass. They don’t make those anymore, because of guys like me.
    “Let me show you something.” Otto took a candle from the dresser.There were four or five of them, and none had ever been lit. Its underside had been hollowed out. He removed a roll of bills as thick as his own wrist.
    “I can set you up,” he said. “Get you all the gear you want, get you safe and isolated.”
    “Put that back,” I said.
    “It’s not hers. It’s mine.”
    “She holds your money for you?”
    He said nothing, tossing the fat roll up and down.
    “She doesn’t know it’s here?” I said.
    “No, she doesn’t. That’s not all of it. I spread it around.”
    “You’re safe until she lights that candle.”
    “She won’t. Listen,” he pressed the roll of bills into my hand, “I can unload whatever else you’ve got for three times what you’re selling it for, five or six times what it cost you to make it. I can make it worth your while.”
    “I should get out there.”
    I don’t remember the occasion, much less the names and faces of everyone present. I do remember your friends coasting on the acid they knew I’d brought but didn’t know I’d made.
    They sought me out until I took refuge in your room, and did the same when I returned to the group.
Where did you get this? Can you get more?
    Along with the hand-holding circles, face touching, rambling on about the beauty of the universe and the presence of God in all things, they had a Darwinian appreciation for me and my contribution. As my stature rose within the group, so did your proximity to me, from touching my shoulder during conversation, to leaning at my side or sitting on my lap, to holding my hand as you said your good-byes at the end of the night after the Mad Hatters had burned off in a clean, thirty-minutecomedown.
    “Are you staying?” You pressed your nose into my neck.
    “I’m going to run out for a bit,” I said, and you wrapped your arms around me. “I’ll be right back, I’m just getting some wine.” Your hold grew tighter. You said no.
    “I promise, just give me a minute.”
    “How long?”
    “Half an hour.”
    “Take Otto with