by Paul Clayton
Tomas sighed. “Tina just wants Reynaldo to have something in this world. A man is nothing without an education. You want him mowing other peoples’ lawns when he grows up?”
Allen blushed guiltily as the image of illegal Mexican immigrants mowing lawns and wielding noisy leaf blowers filled his head. “Of course not,” he said, “but...” Allen looked around the kitchen. “Her discipline is too harsh. He’s just a little kid.”
Susan shook her head as she dried her hands on a towel. “Allen, has she ever hurt him badly?”
Allen frowned. “No… but it just seems to be too much.”
Susan smiled kindly. “Why don’t you just take a walk when Tina’s disciplining Reynaldo? Just take a walk around the block.”
Allen didn’t say anything as he considered her advice. The idea was appealing. Maybe he was overreacting. But why couldn’t Tina try talking to Reynaldo instead of hitting him? And why didn’t she ever give him a hug when it was all over and forgive him? That’s what his parents had done when he was a child. Sometimes she really seemed to have it in for Reynaldo.
Susan turned to Tomas. “I’m going up to get dressed.” Tomas nodded without looking up from his chopping. Susan turned to Allen. “I have a class tonight.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, Allen. It’ll work out. I’ll stop by tomorrow and talk to her.”
Allen nodded. “Thanks.” He turned back to watch Tomas at his cooking. Allen looked up at a picture of Hector on the wall. It was your standard football photo. Hector held his helmet by the strap with one hand. The kid looked massive in his shoulder pads and jersey, and wore a big warm smile. He was handsome, with mostly Anglo features. In three or four years he’d finish college, get his law degree. In California, with those looks and a Hispanic surname, the world would be his oyster. Allen realized that he could be staring at a picture of a future governor or senator, maybe even president. Allen took quick stock of his own assets. He had two children, a wife, a house in a decent neighborhood, a good job. His world should have been bright and hopeful too. But instead he felt like it was growing darker, shrinking and shutting down.
Tomas scraped a white mound of chopped onions off the cutting board and into a bowl. He began slicing one of three lemons sitting on the table. The fresh smell quickly filled the room. “You guys fight too much, you know that?” he said.
Allen felt a coldness inside. He knew Tomas was right. The fights were corroding their marriage. It would fall apart if they kept it up. “Maybe,” he said.
Tomas stopped his cutting and looked at Allen, his face full of concern. “Not maybe. You two fight too much.” He smiled slightly. “Want another beer?”
Allen nodded as Tomas popped another one open and placed it before him.
“We didn’t fight much in the beginning,” said Allen “It’s just been the last couple of years. I think maybe Tina’s going through the change.”
Tomas shrugged. “Kind of early, but, maybe, maybe not. It doesn’t matter though. You’re going to have to choose, Allen.”
Allen frowned in confusion. “Huh? What do you mean?”
Tomas’s big sad eyes looked into Allen’s. “You’re going to have to choose either your wife or your adopted son.” Tomas squeezed the lemons into the bowel and went over to the stove to stir the sauce.
Allen stared down at the beer can, not believing what he’d just heard. He laughed as if Tomas was kidding. “How’s Hector’s knee coming along?” he asked, changing the subject. “He going to play ball this year?”
Chapter 20
Rad and Tawny walked along Grand Avenue on their way to the City Council meeting. Rad thought of the fact that despite having lived all of his life in South City, he had never been to City Hall. Hell, he’d never even climbed San Bruno Mountain until Pygmy’s turned him down for the X Games.
They walked past the double glass doors of the police station and down to the next set of doors that went inside. A crowd of about fifty people milled about amid a half dozen folding tables set up on the tile floor. Some people sat on folding chairs as they talked and sipped coffee from paper cups purchased from the lone vending machine in the corner. Others stood, talking intently in small groups. Tawny held Rad’s hand as they paused to look around.
Rad scanned the faces in the crowd, seeing no familiar ones. He was pleased that Jenny and Cait were evidently not there because he did not want to deal with any discomfort Tawny might feel about them at this time. He was already feeling a growing discomfort within himself and wished that he had not volunteered to speak at the meeting.
David Hunsicker walked past—intelligent bright blue eyes, apple red cheeks and white beard and pony tail—the picture of middle-age, organic-fed, Hippie health. Rad called out a greeting. David nodded.
“Who’s that?” said Tawny.
“David Hunsicker, the guy who started the whole Save the Mountain movement.”
A young woman with a tape recorder, obviously a reporter, had attached herself to David and was questioning him as they passed into the crowd. Rad and Tawny watched them for a moment and then returned their attention to the floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows and the hearing chamber on the other side. That room was full of folding chairs, an aisle up the center leading to a table, upon which a microphone had been set up. A dozen or so people had already taken seats as two men in business suits walked up to the dais and sat, looking down at the chamber. People began going into the chamber and Rad and Tawny followed them. Rad felt his pulse pick up as they took two seats toward the rear of the chamber. Tawny seemed to sense his unease and smiled at him, squeezing his hand.
Four more Council members, two men and two women, ascended the dais. A recording clerk took her seat at a table upon which a computer sat. David Hunsicker appeared at Rad’s side. He handed him a card.
“You’re speaker number seven,” he said. “The luck of the draw. Lucky seven.”
Rad felt himself smile instinctively, then looked down at the card in his hand.
The meeting began with the pledge of allegiance. Then a summary of the status of the last month’s minutes was read by the clerk. There was a pause in the proceedings and people started talking amongst themselves. The Mayor banged the gavel sharply and looked at the audience over his reading glasses. He cast a look at the clerk and she rose and read the itinerary. The meeting progressed smoothly and soon Rad and the others in the chamber were looking at a map of San Bruno Mountain projected onto the white screen off to the side. David Hunsicker rose first to speak. Looking sincere and somber, he made an informed and passionate case for preserving the mountain. Then others rose to speak. Rad’s heart seemed to pick up a few beats after each speaker.
“Number seven!” an amplified voice called out from far away.
For a moment the significance of this particular number didn’t register with Rad and he looked around with the others.
“Number seven,” the voice repeated and then Tawny was shaking his arm and smiling at him. “That’s you, Babe.”
Rad nodded, getting shakily to his feet. He stood still, his throat constricting, and he was surprised at the changes taking place in his body. His heart was pounding, his breathing rapid and heavy, and his legs weak. He was frightened, he realized, as he looked at all the faces watching him, more frightened than he’d ever been in his life. More frightened than the first time he’d stood poised above a half-pipe, his board in his hand. Why was he so frightened, he wondered vaguely? What was the big deal about just speaking his mind? What was happening to him?
As if from a great distance he heard the secretary say again, “speaker number seven, Rad Anderson.”
Rad approached the microphone. He’d been introduced and identified. Now all the faces in the room focused on him expectantly, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with him and why he was standing there like a moron. When Rad got to the podium, his heart flopped about in his chest like a landed fish in the bottom of a boat. He cleared his throat as he pulled the mike closer, his breath ratt
ling like the engine of a car starved for gas. As his face flushed beet red, anger filled him. What the hell was he doing, he wondered? Why was he being such a wuss? Get a hold of yourself he begged, then demanded of himself. Stop shaking. Stop the goddamned, chickenshit coward routine. Just stop it!
“Stop it!” The microphone screeched with feedback as the shocked faces looked up into his. Rad realized that he had said it out loud. He pulled the mike from its holder and shouted ‘stop it’ again.
The faces in the hall stared at him, wearing looks of awe, amusement and alarm.
Realizing that he’d overcome something, that he’d got his voice to work, Rad continued, “Stop the greed!”
The crowd erupted with applause, laughter and raised fists. “Stop it!” some of them echoed him.
“Order!” the secretary called.
“Stop the development,” Rad barked into the mike.
“Stop it!” the crowd shouted back.
The din died a bit and Rad continued, “Save the mountain! We have enough houses, but not enough open space. Save the mountain! We have enough development in South City, but not enough parks. Save the mountain! I grew up looking up at that mountain. As a boy I rode my bike on its slopes, breathing in its clean fresh air. Will other South City children be able to enjoy its green pleasures?” Rad glared briefly at the Council members and then looked back at the audience. Tawny’s face beamed at him. “The Indians worshipped that mountain,” he said to the crowd, “and now the money-worshipers want to pave it over and build roads and houses on it!”
“Nooo!” the crowd shouted.
“Tell it like it is!” said someone.
“Save the mountain!” said another.
“That’s right,” said Rad. “Stop it… and save the mountain!”
When Rad finally took his seat he was exhausted, sweat pouring off his face. Tawny squeezed his hand as the people in the room slowly quieted and the next speaker approached the table.
Later that evening as Rad and Tawny recounted the day’s highlights, Tawny felt touched and moved by Rad. She had seen a side of him she’d never known was there, a side she suspected Rad hadn’t known was there either. The suspicion caused by the two Save the Mountain girls that had begun to taint her love for him slowly sloughed off. There was nothing to that. It was just her and him. That night their lovemaking was the best she’d ever known; Rad was strong and tender at the same time, and it seemed to go on forever.
Chapter 21
1030 Skyview Drive. Tawny spent over an hour getting dressed and made up for their trip downtown to the SOMA district. She hadn’t gone clothes shopping in over a month, but luckily she had one last decent top to wear. Rad was taking her to a new club called the Kat’s Dawg. Tawny’d heard about it from one of her girlfriends, but never thought they’d go. There was a ten-dollar per person cover charge and the drinks were very expensive. But Rad’s friend, Chaz, another skater, tended bar there and was getting them in for free. And, Rad had told her, when the boss wasn’t around, Chaz would score them free drinks. Rad was amazing. He had so many friends and he always made things happen.
Just after the sun set, Chaz and his girlfriend Jane arrived in an ancient Mustang that Chaz was rebuilding. The thing was painted a mottled gray, had unfinished bodywork, holes and rough patches on the rear flanks. Jane was already stoned on grass and slept in the back. Tawny got in the back beside her as Rad sat in the front next to Chaz. As they rolled over the dips and bumps of the elevated freeway, the springs in the back of the car squeaked loudly like the sound of a couple making love on a old spring mattress.
Tawny watched the pastel-colored buildings of the Mission District flow past. Warm air, perfumed by the purple and pink oleanders that lined the freeway, rushed through the open windows of the car and Tawny felt happy. Money was tight now and they did not go out often. So this was a real treat. Leave it to Rad to get them a night of dancing and drinking without spending hardly any of their own loot. Tawny knew she was going to have a good time.
They exited the freeway and pulled to a stop at the light at the bottom of the ramp. An emaciated, wretched-looking baby-boomer street person stood on the divider holding a “will work for food” sign. Tawny knew it was a ruse, knew he didn’t want anything to do with work and that he would drink away whatever money he was given. But she reached into her purse anyway and took out two one-dollar bills, holding them out the window. The old dude hurried over with what was probably a fake limp, and grabbed them before the light changed, calling out, “God bless you.”
“Yeah,” said Rad, “like he believes in God.”
“Bacchus is his god,” said Chaz, adding something else that Tawny couldn’t hear as the words and laughter were lost in the roar of the Mustang’s V-8 engine and the rush of air into the car. They raced down Mission Street. In the growing dark, they passed abandoned warehouses, neon-lighted gay leather bars, laundromats, groceries, Mexican restaurants, a Thai restaurant. Chaz took a sharp right, waking Jane, who looked out the window and exclaimed, “Wow! We’re here already?” Chaz and Rad laughed as Chaz turned down a small side street and pulled up onto the curb in front of a garage door marked, “No Parking.”
“It’s cool,” Chaz announced, as they began getting out of the car, “my boss told me I could park here.”
Chaz led them wordlessly past the line of club-goers and the bouncer at the main entrance who gave him a nod of recognition. They turned a corner and went in a side door. They passed a few shabby black-painted doors labeled Dressing Room and entered the main hall. The dance floor was still empty. Later it would be jammed with sweating bodies, Tawny knew, based on what Rad had told her. Rad steered Tawny over to the bar and ordered her a Bloody Mary. Someone turned on the music. As Tawny took a sip of the earthy, biting concoction, the sounds washed over her in waves, more a visceral experience than a musical one. The electronic drumming and computer-generated notes seemed to knead her skin like a million rubber-coated metal fingers.
After Rad got Tawny set up at the bar, he left to go into the back office to check out the long board that Chaz had just bought. When he returned twenty minutes later the crowd had doubled and the dance floor was already full. He sat beside Tawny and ordered a shot of vodka. He downed half of it, then turned around, leaned back, and watched the dancers. Tawny got to her feet, pulling him toward the dance floor. “Wait, wait” he said, drinking down the rest of his vodka.
As Rad danced opposite Tawny, he smiled at the pleasure he saw in her face. She was really enjoying this night out and that made him feel like a man. The techno-trance number thrummed like a great machine and the patrons jerked and spun like marionettes. Finally it was over and Rad took Tawny’s arm and led her back to the bar. He ordered another vodka. Talking over the music was impossible and so he and Tawny necked and drank, looking into each other’s eyes. The bartender’s hand appeared before Rad, offering him another vodka. He took a sip and floated on the waves of music, watching the bodies swirl and writhe under the flashing colored lights. Tawny nodded toward the dance floor; Rad shook his head no. She tried to pull him off the stool by his arm. He smiled, shouting, “I’m too stoned.” She playfully scowled at him and said loudly into his ear, “I’m going to the ladies’ room.” Rad nodded and watched her walk off. He turned back to the dancers in the flashing lights, then closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of movement that came over him. After a few moments he grew dizzy and opened his eyes. A pretty Asian face was looking into his—Jenny Chin. Her friend, Cait stood a few feet away, watching the dancers on the floor with a look of wry amusement.
Jenny leaned close. “Wow,” she shouted in his ear, then something that sounded like, “do you come here often?”
She laughed at her own joke, if that’s what it had been, and Rad smiled, unable to take his eyes off her. She leaned closer to him and again he felt the warm glow of attraction and had to resist the urge to pull her to him. Despite his dulled senses, he recalled the sight of Tawny disappearing in
the direction of the ladies’ room; he fought for self-control. Yes, he thought to himself, he would give almost anything to hook up with this girl. But he already had a girl, a good one. He looked toward the hallway, looking for Tawny. Jenny said something. He caught only the word, mountain, and he indicated with a jerk of his head that they should go to the hallway that led back to the offices. They would be able to hear each other back there. He led her away.
The movement seemed to sober Rad a bit and he wondered vaguely where in the crowd Tawny was. Could she see him now? No matter, he told himself, he was just talking to Jenny; nothing sinister about that. He paused under a naked red light bulb where he could see her better. As he leaned closer and looked into her eyes he got a hard on. “What were you saying back there?” he said. “I couldn’t hear a word.”
Tawny marveled at the music and dancing as she skirted the dance floor. A tall spike-haired man bumped into her as she made her way back toward the bar. Rad wasn’t there. She scanned the room slowly and noticed a woman who looked familiar—tall, big-boned, blonde. She was standing and watching the dancers. Tawny suddenly realized where she had seen her before; she was one of the two that had driven Rad home from the Save the Mountain meeting.
Tawny looked over toward the offices. She frowned when she saw Rad talking to the Chinese chick. “What the…” she mouthed silently. He was standing a little too close to her, and the chick’s eyes were all gaga as she listened to him.
She started toward them. But before they saw her, the chick took Rad’s arm and led him onto the dance floor. Tawny moved closer but the sea of undulating bodies enveloped them.
Tawny went back to the bar and her Bloody Mary. The music went on for a long time and she grew more irritated. Rad hadn’t wanted to dance with her and now he was out there with that chick. She put her drink down, deciding to go out and cut in on her. Why not, she thought, as she threaded her way through the dancers, all was fair in love and war, wasn’t it?
