The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum

WEDNESDAY

I am a millionaire.

The $23,000 have just won from Vegas_Vic at internet poker has taken me to seven figures in total winnings. Vegas_Vic had the nut flush and didn't believe I had a full house. Vegas_Vic believed I was bluffing. I never bluff. It is not necessary once I tweaked the poker software to display not only my cards but those of my opponents. I am surprised more people do not do this since it simplifies the game and makes winning inevitable. Their loss is my gain. Literally.

I transfer the funds to my credit card and close my account. It is time to retire the Tin Miss. She has been a successful poker player. Perhaps too successful. Fewer and fewer players wish to sit at the same table as me since I invariably win all their money, which they don't appreciate.. Go figure. No matter. I have what I wanted: stake money for John's birthday. I wish to buy him a tight present.

I hope a million dollars will suffice.

x-x

John and his mother are on a supermarket run. Snowy too. I wasn't invited. The last time I went I purchased seventy-two bags of Doritos and several gallons of pancake batter. This was considered excessive. Sarah Connor has a long memory.

This means I will require assistance in order to buy John the present he deserves. I know just the place.

Jerold and Alys Ramirez are outside in the front yard waxing their surfboards. This is necessary in order to ensure firm traction when riding the waves. My suggestion to nail their feet to the board is dismissed as a joke. I don't know why since this would improve traction considerably better than a thin coating of wax.

Hey, Cam," Jerold greets me. "You're looking smokin' hot today."

Alys rolls her eyes and says, "Oh boy, you're a glutton for punishment..."

"What? Can't I pay a pretty girl a compliment?"

"I'm saying nothing. I'm just gonna stand here and watch you crash and burn."

"Maybe it'll be diffferent this time."

"Ri-ght. And I'll sprout wings and fly to the moon. What can we do for you, Cam? If you're looking for John or Snowy I saw them leave with your mom about twenty minutes ago."

"It's John's birthday tomorrow," I explain. "I wish to buy him a tight present."

"Cool! What d'you have in mind?"

"An automobile."

"Yeah, that'd work. Mom bought us the Bug for our sixteenth. What's your budget?"

"A million dollars."

"Seriously? Wow, someone's been saving their allowance. With that kind of bankroll you could buy him a different car for every day of the year."

I ponder this. A different car for every day of the year adds up to 365 vehicles. This might be extravagant. And there may well be problems getting them all to fit in the driveway.

"Just one will be fine," I decide.

"Wise choice!" Alys laughs.

"Do you think John would like me to give him a Hummer?"

Jerrold's face turns bright red for some reason. "Er - isn't he your brother?"

"She means the car, perv!" Alys snaps. "And definitely not. Those things are for Chuck Norris-wannabes with bad hair weaves and more money than taste. Buy him something classic and understated. A vintage Porsche would be my pick."

"Is that a tight present?"

"Sure is. Let me change my clothes and I'll come with. I know a place and I'll get your brother a great deal."

"Hey - can I come?" Jerrold asks hopefully.

"Nope. You stay here and play with your Star Wars doll collection."

"Figurines. How many more times, Alys, they're not dolls they're limited edition action figurines."

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

"Yeah, well, this time the lady's right. Wait - run that by me again."

PORSCHE

Alys and I are at a vehicle dealership in Laguna Beach. She is now wearing a short skirt, high heels and a very low-cut sweater. She explains this is necessary in order to get a good deal.

"Trust me, this outfit is like catnip for straight guys. I guarantee it'll knock at least ten thou off list. Maybe more. Dressed like this I can make guys melt."

Melt? Interesting. Only advanced terminators with flame thrower attachments can do that.

We peruse the Porsches for sale. There are several on the lot, sleek and expensive they seem to glow in the bright sunshine. I am sure John would like to own one.

"Okay, Cam, here comes the salesman. Remember, let me do all the talking. How do my legs look?"

"Long and tan."

"Showtime..."

We leave the dealership an hour later in a classic Porsche 911. Alys managed to get twenty thousand dollars off list, a set of brand new tires and a full tank of gas thrown in. I am not sure how she did this. It seemed to involve a lot of eye contact, flicking her hair, laughing at the salesman's unfunny jokes, and crossing her legs repeatedly. I suppose this is how you conduct business in America.

"Putty in my hands!" Alys laughs. "Men are such idiots. Always thinking with their little heads."

"His head seemed normal sized to me."

"All men have two heads, babe. And where women are concerned it's the little head calling the shots."

Two heads? I did not know this. Perhaps John has a little head? If so, why have I not seen it - and does it like me? I will insist he shows me when I get home.

"C'mon, let's take this baby on the Interstate and see what she can do."

The Porsche is faster and more responsive than the SUV. Once in the wide lanes of the Interstate I put my foot on the gas and it surges forward, effortlessly picking up speed.

"Sweet!" Alys laughs. "I wouldn't mind one of these myself."

"Perhaps you can persuade the salesman to give you one for nothing?"

"I'm good, babe, but not that good!"

We head north towards Santa Monica. I maintain a steady 120 mph, swerving between the slower moving vehicles.

"Woo-oo!" Alys screams, her long dark hair flowing out horizontal in the slipstream. "This is so freaking cool!"

It is freaking cool until we pass a black and white police cruiser as if it is standing still. Its siren sounds in our wake.

"Oh shit! Busted! Better pull over. It'll just be a fine with any luck. No biggie."

But I don't pull over; I press down on the gas. Speed climbs steadily until the needle sticks at 185 mph, evidently the vehicle's top speed. At this velocity the other cars are mere blurs, only my advanced spatial awareness software prevents an accident as we slalom in and out of traffic.

"Cam, no!"

Cam, yes. We leave the patrol car far behind. The danger is not over. It will have radioed ahead so a roadblock can be positioned to detain us. There may even be a helicopter to provide the police with eyes in the sky. It is time to leave the Interstate.

I take the curving off-ramp in a controlled powerslide at 120 mph, tires screeching and smoking as they struggle at the edge of traction.

"Holy crap...holy crap...holy crap..."

Alys prays to her God for salvation. Is crap holy? Apparently so. It is strange what humans choose to worship.

Once in the city proper I reduce speed, becoming just another automobile in a city of automobiles, slow and anonymous.

"That was freaking terrifying!" Alys declares, her normally tan face pale and pinched with stress. "I've never been so scared my whole life!"

"I'm sorry for scaring you."

"Oh don't be sorry. It was exhilerating! Like being in the ocean poised at the top of a huge breaker and knowing if you wipeout it could be the end. Here - feel my heart beating."

She takes my hand and presses it between her breasts. I can feel her heart beating like a wild animal frantically trying to escape her ribcage.

"How did you manage it? You never learned that at Driver's Ed."

"It's a knack."

"Yeah? Hey - maybe your real father was a racing driver and you inherited his genes? That'd be way cool."

Alys looks around at our surroundings. "I know where we are. Take a left. There's a bar nearby. And I need a drink."

THE PINK CLAM

The bar is called the Pink Clam: single-storey building with chrome and glass interior decor. The customers are all women; there is not a man in sight.

The barmaid seems to know Alys. She is short and slim with curly blonde hair and a metal stud in her left nose dimple.

"Hey, Al, looking good."

"Hey, Kendra."

"Usual?"

"Please."

"Who's your cute friend?"

"Her name's Cameron."

"Cherry-vanilla?"

"Yeah, but I'm working on it."

"That her Porsche outside?"

"We just bought it. It's a present for her brother."

"Rich cherry-vanilla, huh? The best kind. What you having, babe?"

"Soda," I reply.

"Sure? We're not strict about IDs at the Clam."

"Soda."

"Suit yourself."

Music starts, the bass heavy and monotonous. Several women leave their seats and begin dancing.

"Wanna dance?" Alys asks me.

"No."

"Mind if I do?"

"Why would I mind?"

She swallows her drink and strides out onto the dancefloor. Eyes closed she sways to the beat. Three girls immediately surround her, but Alys doesn't notice them, she is lost in the music.

"Sure you don't want something stronger?" Kendra asks me. "I meant it about IDs. The cops get their cut, if you know what I mean."

I don't. And I tell her I am happy with soda. She shrugs. "Up to you, Mary Poppins."

"My name is Cameron."

"Whatever."

"Where are all the men?" I inquire.

"Who needs men? The Clam is run by women for women. We need a man the way a fish needs a bicycle."

This seems an odd remark. A fish, having no limbs, would be unable to operate the pedals or grasp the handlebars. Plus the ocean would not be conducive to bicycle riding. I point these facts out to Kendra.

"You're not too bright, are you?" she smiles. "I like that in a girl. If you get tired of Alys give me a call. You cherry-vanilla's really get my motor running."

"You have a motor?"

She laughs and shakes her head. "Priceless!"

The song ends. Alys opens her eyes, frowns at the women shadowing her, and waves them away. She returns to the stool next to mine and signals for another drink.

"This is a friendly place," I remark as two of the girls shooed away by Alys come and ask me to dance.

"Too friendly, you ask me. Hello? Am I invisible? Get the hell away from her!" she barks at the girls, who return to their tables.

Alys has two more drinks then gets up to dance again. This time she has five girls crowding her.

"She is very popular," I remark to Kendra, who places one more large drink in front of Alys' stool.

"Oh yeah. Ally's a real babe magnet. Especially since word got out about her and Rosalie splitting. Guess she wasn't on the market for long. How long have you known her?"

"Fiftty six days, six hours, forty-two minutes."

"Impressive. Must be serious if you're counting the minutes."

I don't know what she means by this and before I can ask Alys returns. She swallows her drink, once more waving her retinue away with an irritated wave of her hand.

"I'm going to the bathroom. Don't dance with anyone, Cam. I mean it. They're all a bunch of evil skanks!"

"You might want to watch out," Kendra advises me. "Ally's kind of a moody drunk sometimes. I'll serve her one more and that's it. Trust me, it's for her own good."

During her absence five girls come up to me and ask me to dance, going away disappointed when I refuse. This is certainly the most friendly place I have ever visited.

Alys returns from the bathroom and finishes her drink. She waves for a refill.

"Sorry, Al. Well's dry," Kendra tells her. "I think you've had enough."

"Hey, I'll tell you when I've had enough. Bitch."

"I don't want any trouble. Why don't you take your rebound girl home."

"My rebound girl? What's that supposed to mean?"

"We all heard Rosalie dumped you."

"No, I dumped her sorry, two-timing ass."

"Not how I heard it."

"Then you heard wrong. C'mon, Cam, let's split. Screw you, Kendra! Screw all you skank bitches!"

I am barely seated behind the wheel of the Porsche when Alys is all over me, pressing her wet lips against mine and attempting to insert her tongue in my mouth. She tastes of alcohol but not breath mints. She thrusts her hand down the front of my pants.

"C'mon, babe, give it up. I'm crazy in love with you."

"No."

I take her hand by the wrist and remove it.

"You broke my wrist!" she wails.

"It is not broken." I know the breaking strain of every bone in the human body and I did not exceed it.

She lunges at me again. This time I am ready and slam her back in her seat.

"You broke my spine!"

"Your spine isn't broken."

"You don't know!"

I pinch her thigh.

"Hey! That hurt! Why'd you do that?"

"If your spine was broken the nerves would be severed. You wouldn't feel a thing."

She tries to come at me again but I keep her pressed firmly in her seat.

"How are you doing this? You're skin and bone."

"I am so much more than that."

"I'm way bigger than you. Your arms are like toothpicks."

"Size isn't everything."

"I virtually prostituted myself with that salesman. You think I enjoyed that creep staring up my skirt? Or laughing at his lame jokes? I did it for you, 'cause I really am crazy in love with you. And this is what I get?"

She bursts into tears. The brash, confident Alys has been replaced by the marshmallow center I glimpsed a few days ago. I had always assumed Becca Shaughnessy to be most emotionally volatile human I had ever met. It seems I was mistaken. Perhaps all humans possess these ambivilent emotions and are no more able to quell or control them than the rise and fall of the ocean tides.

Alys snivels but remains on her side of the vehicle. She keeps her face angled away from me, sulking. Presently her breathing slows and her head lolls to one side. The alcohol has taken effect and she is asleep, snoring softly in repose.

I park the Porsche a block from the safe house so John will not see his present before his birthday and carry the still slumbering Alys to her house. Jerold answers at the first knock.

"What happened? Is she okay?"

I recount the sequence of events. Jerold nods sadly.

"Yeah, she mentioned putting a move on you. I told her she was wasting her time but she wouldn't listen. She's not like me, she doesn't take rejection well."

I carry her up to her bedroom. It is different from how I imagined. Bright floral wallpaper and numerous stuffed toy animals that inhabit every availble space like tiny fluffy sentinels. It is more the room of a small child than a teenager close to womanhood. I lay her on the bed.

"She has a history of going after girls who aren't suitable for her," Jerold says, gently removing her shoes. "I think Pop leaving when he did then never staying in touch affected her more than she lets on. You'd think she wouldn't want to revisit that pain but she does. She trash-talks him yet she's still got his picture. See."

A framed photograph on the bedside table. A handsome latino man cradling two infants in his arms. Jerold and Alys as children. All are smiling at the camera. A happy moment frozen forever in time.

"Thanks for your help, Cam." Jerold tugs the bedsheet up to his sister's chin and smooths her hair back from her face. "I'll look after her now. Not for the first time, I'm afraid."

His tenderness surprises me. This is not the boy who regularly advocates an all-night, naked kegger at the beach. Possibly he is maturing, offering a glimpse of the man he will one day become. I decide I prefer this Jerold.

"You love your sister, don't you?"

"Oh sure, bigtime. We've been through a lot, and even though we squabble constantly it's blood that counts in the end."

"Blood?"

"Brother and sister. You know about that with John. We look after our own, right?"

"Yes. We look after our own."

WEDNESDAY

Today is John's birthday and I am in a dither as to what to wear. Ideally I would wear nothing at all: just a big pink ribbon and the words 'Happy Birthday, John' written in red lipstick across my breasts.

But Sarah Connor would not think this appropriate attire. And possibly a waste of lipstick. She is very frugal.

Instead I put on faded jeans, thong sandals and a croptop. My hair is looking particularly shiny these days. It is amazing what Jojoba oil and three bottles of shampoo a day can achieve.

Downstairs Sarah Connor has already given John her present: a Kevlar bullet-proof vest.

"It's great, mom. Thanks."

"It's the latest design. Stop anything short of a howitzer."

Snowy is next. He leaps around John's legs barking excitedly. "He's informing you he saved some kibbles as a present," I interpret. "Then got hungry in the night and ate it all. Greedy dog, eating John's present," I scold.

"Woof?"

"Yes, you. I don't see any other greedy dogs here."

Snowy hangs his head in shame. John takes pity on him. "That's alright, boy. It's the thought that counts."

Thought? I believe he will like my present far more than any mere thought.

We go outside. John, his mother and I, Snowy sheepishly brings up the rear, still smarting from my scolding, as well he might. Kibbles is not a tight present, especially if you eat them yourself.

The Porsche is parked at the kerb covered in a canvas tarpaulin. I remove the tarp and hand John the keys.

"Happy birthday."

"This is my present? Wow...I'm speechless."

Typically Sarah Connor isn't.

"You didn't steal it, I hope?"

"It's fully documented."

"It looks fast."

"Top speed 185 mph."

"And dangerous."

"It has curtain airbags and anti-lock brakes. I can vouch for them."

"I don't know, John. Maybe you should hand it back."

"Are you kidding, mom? It's my best birthday present ever!"

I see Sarah Connor wince at this remark. She points at the house. "I guess nothing I say will make a blind bit of difference. I'm going back inside. Try not to kill yourself."

John grins. "Hop in. Let's take her for a test run."

"It's a her?" I ask, surprised.

"Sure. Why - you don't think it's a her?"

"I don't know. I didn't check under the hood."

We head north to Santa Monica, John unwittingly following the same route as Alys and I yesterday. He doesn't drive as fast. Speed laws are mostly observed. John cannot stop smiling. I smile too. It is contagious.

We have left Snowy behind. Partly as punishment for the kibbles incident and partly because there may be kissing ahead and I don't want him cramping my style. Do I have a style? I decide I do. Wet and sucky. With plenty of tongue action. Yes, that is my style.

We park and head for the Santa Monica pier. John buys an ice cream from a vendor, who nods at me and inquires, "One for your lady friend?"

"She's lactose intolerent," John lies.

We walk over to the railings, the Pacific Ocean blue and serene below us. Several fisherman have lines in the water.

John licks his ice cream and winces. "Ouch! Brain freeze!"

The ice cream is freezing John's brain? I knock the cone from his hand. It falls harmlessly into the water. That was a close call. It was fortunate my reactions were razor sharp or John might have suffered brain damage..

"Hey! What did you do that for?"

"It was freezing your brain."

"Not literally! It's just an expression. Aw, man..."

The ice cream vendor has moved on. John grumbles but eventually settles for some cotton candy: a plume of spun sugar on a stick.

"Not going to throw this in the ocean, I hope?"

"Will it freeze your brain?"

"This stuff just rots your teeth."

"Then why eat it?"

"It's tasty. Try some."

I accept a piece and pop it in my mouth where it dissolves instantly.

"Like it?"

"It is mainly refined sugar and artificial colouring."

"Trust you to suck the fun out of it."

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to be a funsucker. Hmm!" I declare with exaggerated emphasis. "It is delicious!"

"Now you're plain lying."

He sees right through me.

"This is the place that Cromartie SOB tried to kill me," he states, looking around. "And I think I met Riley here once. We shouldn't have come."

"There are no terminators present," I assure him.

"It's not that. This place has too many bad memories. Let's go."

The journey home takes us past The Pink Clam. I point it out and mention how friendly the clientle are.

"Cam, it's a gay bar! The girls who wanted to dance were hitting on you."

"Oh."

"Didn't the name give you a clue?"

"I thought it was because they served shellfish."

John laughs for several minutes. Is he laughing with me or at me?

I decide I don't care. I am just happy he is happy.

EVENING

Sarah Connor has baked a birthday cake. It is a qualified success in so far as it not charcoal. Not quite.

"Is it meant to be that colour?" John asks eyeing it dubiously.

"It got a little burnt. It's no big deal."

She cuts a slice. The muscles in her arms stand out as she forces the knife through the blackened crust.

John takes a bite. He spits it out at once. Snowy takes a sniff and runs yelping from the room.

It is consigned to the bin.

PARTY

In the evening Jerold and Alys come over carrying a present for John: a magnum of champagne. This is also a tight present. Alys has brought a boombox and some cds.

"All right! Let's get this party started!" she yells. "Open the champagne!"

"Uh - you do realise I'm not twenty-one?"

"Who's counting? Let's pop this sucka!"

"I'll leave you kids to it," Sarah Connor announces.

"No, don't go, Sarah!" Jerold pleads. "At least wait until we've opened the champagne."

"Yeah, mom, have a glass to celebrate," John agrees.

"Just the one."

"And one dance," Jerold adds.

"One dance. And no Puke Attack."

"Promise," Jerold winks. "Puke Attack are over. They sold out. Went corporate. They actually learned to play their instruments. Can't get more corporate than that."

Alys seeks me out and smiles nervously. "Hey."

"Hey."

"About yesterday. I was way out of line. It was the booze and maybe a small part of me missed Rosalie more than I realised. No excuses, I shouldn't have done what I did. I was a freaking idiot. Can you forgive me?"

"Yes."

"And we'll still be friends? Just friends. I'm totally cool with that."

"Friends. Cool with that."

We hug. She doesn't try to feel me up. Progress.

Song follows song. The champagne is consumed and toasts drunk to John's health. Alys falls asleep on the sofa at midnight, while Jerold attempts to demonstrate his breakdancing skills to Sarah Connor, a process that involves him spinning on his back like an upturned turtle.

I find John in the kitchen. The alcohol has made him merry. And talkative.

"Best birthday ever!" he repeats several times in a slurring voice. "We should do it all over again."

"Yes, in a year's time."

"No! We should celebrate your birthday next."

"My built day," I correct.

"No! You should have a proper birthday. The Queen of England has two birthdays, her actual one and an official one for ceromonies and shit. You can have an official birthday too. Pick a date."

"Today."

"No! Today's my birthday."

"Jerold and Alys share a birthday."

"Because they're twins. Pick again."

"Tomorrow."

"No! Too soon. I want to buy you a present as great as the one you got me. I want to buy you the world!"

"That will be expensive. Unless you have a coupon?"

"November nine! That's your birthday. We'll party and-oh!"

"What?"

"The room's spinning."

I consult my sensors. They register no gravitational anomaly. John is insistent.

"It's spinning. I -"

His eyes roll back in his head and he collapses. I catch him before he hits the floor. I check his vitals. Normal. Evidently the alcohol is to blame.

I carry him up to his room and lay him on the bed, kissing him gently on the lips.

"Happy birthday, John."

BED PARTNERS

When I return from night patrol at 8.00AM Alys is no longer on the sofa while John is still sleeping in his room.

Snowy is asleep on the bed in my room. He is lying on his back with all four paws in the air, tongue lolling from his mouth. This unusual posture is explained by the alcohol he drank earlier in the evening when Alys filled his water bowl with champagne. He enjoyed the champagne very much, an opinion he may revise when he wakes up with a sore head.

Sarah Connor's bedroom door is ajar. Odd. She normally keeps it firmly shut so that Snowy can't sleep on her clothes and cover them with doghair. I decide to snoop.

Two figures are side by side in bed, asleep. The figure on the left of the bed stirs, the sheet falling away to reveal the familiar tousled black hair of Jerold Ramirez. He blinks dozily up at me and asks, "Cam? What are you doing in my room?"

"This isn't your room."

"Hey, you're right! Ouch, and why does my head hurt so bad?"

On the other side of the bed Sarah Connor sits up, blinking owlishly. "Jerold?" she says, surprised.

"Sarah? Omigod - you're naked!"

"So are you."

"And we're in bed together. We must have..."

"No. No way. There must be another explanation."

"The last thing I remember is standing on the kitchen table demonstrating the perfect hang ten. Then falling off. That must be why my head hurts."

"Mine too. We drank too much champagne."

"Omigod - suppose we didn't use protection? You're pregnant! Sarah, I will be totally supportive of our baby. Can I name it? If it's a girl, Leia. Obviously. If it's a boy, Boba Fett."

"Are you insane?"

"Hey, it's not like I want to call him Grand Moff Tarkin. Although that is a really cool name."

"I'm not pregnant, you idiot. Nothing happened."

"Man, I bagged a cougar. I can't wait to tell Alys and the guys at the beach and- Ulp!"

Sarah Connor grabs Jerold in a headlock. His face turns purple.

"Listen, you little maggot. Nothing. Happened. You don't breathe a word of this to your sister, your surfer buds, or my son. Especially my son. Understand?"

"...can't breath...sarah...can't breath..."

"Understand?"

"...yes...please...need oxygen..."

She releases him. He sucks in lungfuls of air. "Man, you're cranky after sex!"

"Get out."

"Er - I can't find my clothes."

"GET OUT!"

Jerold presses a pillow to his groin and hurries from the room.

Sarah Connor notices me standing at the end of the bed. "And you. You say nothing to John, understand?"

"Mum's the word," I assure her. "Oh. Did you hear that? I made another joke. Mum's the word and you are John's m-"

She groans and flings the remaining pillow at me, striking me in the face.

Some people have no sense of humour.

-000-