by Keith LaHue
He left the sounds and sights of the beating and walked away. The last thing he heard was principal Algrove yelling at them to break it up. Then they were far enough away that he couldn't hear the outcome.
He had ideas for when he got home. It was Friday, no school tomorrow, and he wanted to "do something" to the residents of Pangaea. Not that he was a mean spirited boy. What he wanted most was to see them. To see what they looked like in the various regions of the tableau. The scale of the model was so small that you couldn't realistically put in miniatures of people. They would have been too small to notice. Nevertheless, he knew they existed. He wanted to know more about them, and what they did in response to his orders and proclamations. He had never punished them. He just wanted a reaction, any reaction that would confirm his belief, because now he had no real proof.
He'd have the model to himself this weekend; his dad was off on one of his business trips. He dad was an accountant, which meant he worked with numbers. That was the extent of Davey's knowledge of his dad's work. He didn't know why he was gone this weekend, just that he was.
So what could he do to confirm that the inhabitants of Pangaea were real? He'd have to be careful not to do anything to the model that he couldn't undo. So it had to be something he could clean up himself. His idea was to take some part of the construct away, to see if the people of Pangaea would rebuild it without help. That would be proof. It would have to be something small; something the microscopic people could rebuild by themselves in the space of the weekend.
He had to keep it a secret from his dad, who didn't know Pangaea was full of people. Real people just like him. Seeing that his mother never deviated from her course to the laundry machines when she came down to the basement, there was no need to hide anything from her. If she did look at it, she'd never know anything was amiss.
As he reached the kitchen door of his home, he thought of it. He could take the Brooklyn Bridge out in one piece and put it back before his dad came home. They hadn't built Brooklyn itself, but the people...he wondered what happened to them when they crossed the bridge. It led to the old west section of the tableau. But how would this provide proof? The only way it could be was if the residents tried to rebuild the bridge.
Inside the Kitchen, he found it empty.
"Mom! I'm home!" He walked into the living room. She was seated in front of the TV, watching a soap opera she liked.
She turned to him. "Hello, handsome. How was school?"
"It was okay. Can I play with the model?"
"About that...I'm sorry Davey, but your dad asked that you stay away from it for the weekend while he's gone. He said that the Great Wall of China was in a delicate phase, and it must not be disturbed."
"But mom!"
"I know, I know Davey, but I told your father that you'd wait to play with it until he got home. He's supposed to be back early Sunday."
"That's two days! Can't I just look at it? I won't touch anything!"
"No son, you know your dad's rules about the model. He's working on that big new section and he has all sorts of stuff scattered about. He knows just the way he left it. I promised him I'd keep you out of the basement. Maybe you and I can do something special, just the two of us. Would you like that?"
"Oh, I guess." The disappointment was evident in his voice.
"Why don't you call one of your friends over and play with them? Karl is your friend. C'mon. Give him a call."
"Oh alright. I'll do it after dinner." He slunk down into one of the overstuffed chairs, letting his book bag fall to the floor.
Lying in bed that night, waiting for sleep, he thought about how he and Karl would spend Saturday. He was coming over, which surprised him. Karl’s weird dad had answered the phone and accepted for Karl. No playing with the model, that was out. He wasn't even sure he liked Karl. He could be mean to him sometimes. He wondered if Karl even liked him. One time when they'd been out exploring the city, they come across a storm drain outlet. When Davey had climbed in, Karl had acted like he was going to block the exit, and had begun obstructing the exit with rocks. In the end he had said it was just a joke, still, it had scared him. Maybe it was best that the model was off limits when they'd be playing together. Karl might do something to hurt it. Davey liked the model and would hate to see anything happen to it.
A few miles away, Karl Stenger wanted nothing more than to go to bed. His father had other ideas. Randy Stenger was drunk, as he was every night. His job at the municipal dump reflected his temperament. His son had been bad again; he'd received a C on his English paper. His son had indeed been terrible, hiding the paper from him. Randy could barely stand the sight of him, cowering in the corner, crying at the impending punishment. Yet he had to be punished. Randy walked over to him, a cigarette dangling from his lower lip. He forced the boy to lay face down on the couch. He pulled his pants down. Then, across an already scared buttock, he laid his half-finished cigarette. Karl cried out in pain. How long would he go for this time? On Karl's back, there was a "special" scar, where he'd been forced to endure the slow burn of an entire cigarette. Randy liked that one. Karl was crying harder now. He thought his wife would have interfered at this point. She had "passed" some time ago. She had stopped breathing when Randy held a pillow over her face for half an hour. There had been no investigation. After she had died, he'd had his last intimacy with her. It was the best sex he had ever had.
Karl was begging him to stop. Randy knew better than to leave scars where they would show. He took the almost spent butt off of his son and snuffed it out in an ashtray. He shook the boy and screamed at him to stop crying, he had to be punished, and he'd brought it upon himself. Karl stood up and pulled his pants up in pain. His father made him go through the routine now. It was Karl's own fault. He was to tell no one. If he did tell someone he would be visiting mommy soon. Karl knew the drill. His father cuffed him one on the side of the head, the signal that tonight's session was done. There was always tomorrow night Karl thought. Randy Stenger told him to go to bed. On his way out of the room, his father called to him.
"Hey, you've got a playdate with one of your faggot friends tomorrow. That West kid. You guys can butt-fuck each other. Go over there after you find yourself something for breakfast. And do me a favor, don't come back. Fag."
Karl just nodded and left the room. He climbed the stairs to his room and lay on the soiled brown sheets of his bed. They had started out white; his father wasn't much on laundry. He knew deep in his heart that his father had killed his mother, and would kill him too if he told anyone about the things his father did to him.
He'd heard that Davey had a huge model in the basement of the house. While he liked Davey, he couldn't help but smile at the thought of some of the less-than-nice things he'd done to him. He deserved it, just as Karl deserved what his father did to him. He was in too much pain to sleep, so he thought about some of the things he might do to him tomorrow. When they were alone when he could do anything he wanted to him.
8
David's mother was shocked at the sight of Karl the next morning when he arrived at ten. There were holes in his jeans. His plain white tee shirt was gray, and she thought she saw places that looked like blood stains. His hair was filthy. A dark smudge crossed one side of his face. His eyes were sunken, hollow. She wanted to give him a bath. He was too thin. This had all happened since Barbara Stenger had died. The last time she had seen him he looked healthy, albeit a little depressed.
The official report had been that Barbara Stenger had died of natural causes. Marigold, along with nearly the entire town, knew better. She would bet that Randy Stenger had killed her. He was the town drunk and dump attendant in one person. Dave had told her on more than one occasion that Stenger was drunk on the job. It didn't surprise her. He had throttled back on her response, visceral as it was.
"Davey? Karl's here."
Davey came running into the kitchen. Hey - ." He just looked at Karl. He may only have been eight years old, but that didn't make him st
upid.
"Hey, Karl. What do you want to do today?" The mood was suddenly sullen. While he wasn't best friends with Karl, he did like him, despite some of the tricks he'd played on him.
"I don't know. Maybe play with that big model you've got in your basement? The whole school knows about it." Mischief crept into his eyes, suddenly bright.
"My dad's working on it right now. He's not here, but I'm not supposed to play with it until he comes back."
"Can't I just take a look at it?"
"I dunno..." Davey looked at his mom.
"I tell you what. I'll go with you, and we'll just look. After that, you'll have to leave it alone. Okay?" Said Mary.
"That would be great mom!" Even Karl perked up, nodding enthusiastically. Marigold led the two boys to the basement door, opened it, and led them downstairs after flipping on the lights.
"Wow this is fantastic!" said Karl. Inside he was suffused with jealousy. He couldn't begin to understand what it would be like to have a father - and a mother - that did such great things together. He was emotionally torn, part of him wanted to cry, the other part of him wanted to wreck the whole damn model. He didn't have to fake being impressed.
"My dad started it a long time ago. That's why it's so big. He keeps adding things. Pretty soon he's going to start one in the living room, and eventually the whole house."
"Over my dead body son," said his mother. "This begins and ends in the basement."
They all laughed. For a moment, Karl felt happy.
"Look at this unfinished part, my dad's going to build the Great Wall of China. And some city that I can't remember."
"Beijing," said his mother.
"Yeah, that's it."
"How come there are no people?"
"My dad says it's because of the scale. People would be so small that we wouldn't be able to see them. Look here in this city part. See how small the cars...are." Davey was lost in reverie for a moment. There was a car in the Los Angeles part of the model, there were only a few included. His dad said that they too were too small to fit correctly. This car had moved on its own, he hadn't moved it, and his dad hadn't either. The wheels in Davey's head were spinning. This was proof that there were people there.
"Okay boys, that's enough. Outside with you two."
"Awe mom," said Davey. "Okay Karl, come on, let's go outside. The three of them trudged upstairs, He and Davey and Karl exited through the side door, out into the yard.
As soon as the boys were outside, Marigold consulted the phone book. She found child protective services and dialed the phone.
Outside, playing on the swing set, Karl felt almost normal again. He swung higher and higher, and the set began to move. Davey stopped swinging and got off.
"Stop it; you'll knock the whole thing over!"
"So, what?"
"You'll get hurt."
"Oh okay, Sissy." Karl gradually came to a stop and just sat there. His eyes looked distant again. Like there wasn't something quite right about him. Davey sat next to him.
"Can I ask you something, Karl?"
"I guess." He looked weary, as if he'd had a long journey behind him, and had more ahead.
"Do you miss your mom? She made the best lemonade and..."
"Don't you ever talk about her again! Hear me? I'll knock your fuckin' teeth down your throat." Karl was aping his dad's extensive repertoire of threats.
Davey was shocked. He was deeply sorry for what he said. In tandem, they both stood, Karl in a fighter's stance. "I'm, sorry I said that. I just know how much I'd miss my mom if she..." He hadn't finished before Karl started crying. Davey paused, and then threw his arms around him and hugged him.
The embrace lasted but a moment. Karl dried his eyes and said he was going home. Davey said goodbye and just stood there, watching the shallow figure of a boy disappear from sight as he rounded the corner, headed for home.
Karl had to wait before he went inside. He couldn't let his father see that he'd been crying. He hated Davey for bringing up his mother. There was something that no one knew, not even his dad. He hadn't told anyone, not the police, not his teachers, not anyone.
He had seen his father kill his mother.
Davey. He was going to pay for bringing her up. He went inside, his grief channeled to anger, and thought of ways to get him. He knew. He'd fuck up that dammed model. That would show him.
9
The Party at Donna's Malibu house was in full swing, even though it was early afternoon. James grabbed a glass of Champagne as one of the servants walked by. Man, these Hollywood types sure knew how to put on a party. The place was built into the side of a hill overlooking the beach off in the distance. The alcohol helped loosen him up. He'd only had three minor roles in movies, although all of them had been A-list films, one of which, "Forever Young" had gone on to garner four Oscars. But he hadn't won one himself.
James looked west. Wasn't it odd that he had never seen a sunset since he'd moved to Los Angeles? It was always just day one moment, and then the light would fade. But no real sun to see, just the ambient light. No matter, he was here in glittering Hollywood, and having success. He knew that parties like this were one way to make new connections. He'd seen a few great directors here, and one up-and-coming director that could do no wrong.
He was by nature shy and had let his agent do that talking for him after he'd signed with him. Said signing had taken place after his first film, where he'd responded to an open casting call. Since then, he'd had the other two movies and a few commercials.
He hated to do commercials, they made him feel cheap. With the success of "Forever Young", he was fast-tracked to certain success. He was a dolt in almost everything he had tried to do in life until he had discovered acting in high school. He had gotten by in his classes, only excelling in drama and the drama club. After high school, he's had a part in a summer dinner theater in upstate New York. That had led to Hollywood.
He lived in a small apartment off of Sunset, near the edge of the bad part of town. If you went three blocks east you'd be in the thick of degeneration. West was better. He liked cruising the Strip, and while he had an eye - and the looks - for the ladies, he rarely dated. He was that rarity in Hollywood, an actor with a strict moral code. He was certainly no virgin, but he didn't sleep around like the rest of the town seemed to.
A vivacious young woman bumped into him accidentally on purpose. He smiled; she had managed to hold onto her drink. She was, however, seriously lit. And incredibly attractive. He thought maybe he'd break his rule and see if she wanted to come home with him. He was about to speak to her when she vomited all over him, and her, and the carpet. He stood back.
Donna rushed over.
"Had enough to drink Melanie?"
"Oh, I'm so..." with that she fell backward onto a couch and passed out, still covered in vomit.
"I'm so sorry James. It is James, isn't it? Weren't you in 'Forever Young'?"
"Yes, I was, and yes, it's James." The party went on around them as if nothing had happened. He involuntarily blushed. Hollywood's premier starlet was talking to him. It had been her publicist that had sent the invite to him, but he supposed she must have green-lighted the list. Donna was motioning to one of her staff to clean up the vomit. She also instructed another one of them to see to it that Melanie got home alright. Donna sure as hell wasn't going to let her drive away from the party. She turned her attention back to James, who had stood patiently, nursing his drink. He wasn't much of a drinker.
"So James, what do you say we get out of here for a little while? Take a drive."
"Um, isn't this your party?"
"Yes, and seeing as it will go on for three days regardless of whether I'm here or not, I can take a break."
"Well okay. And just so you know, I wasn't planning on staying three days." Blond haired and blue eyed, he flashed the boyish smile that his conventionally handsome face bore so well. It had landed him a couple of parts so far and would hopefully continue to do so. He was on the upsw
ing, so to speak.
The two of them made their way through the densely packed crowd, James avoided a few near collisions with party goers, Donna made her way effortlessly, James supposed she had done this a thousand times before.
They found themselves in the garage in short order. James had to restrain a gasp at the sight of the ten car garage. There was a Bentley, a Rolls, a Porsche, the list went on and on. Donna said they'd take the Ferrari, and she hoped it suited him. James was dumbfounded. He drove a VW. She unlocked the key cabinet and removes the keys tossing them to him. His cat-like reflexes didn't fail.
"You're going to let me drive a two hundred thousand dollar car?"
"Yes. And it was three. I had it especially made for me."
"Wow."
Donna hit the door opener as they got in the car. James cautiously turned the key. The engine roared to life, he'd never felt such a sense of power as he backed the car out of the garage. The guest cars were a slight obstacle, he managed to avoid them and soon they were facing out of the driveway to the road.
"Which way?" he asked.
"Take a left. I feel like going out to the desert."
"Okay, but you navigate. I've never been out there."
"You are new. Just the way I like them." She gave him her famous smile that spoke volumes. James was still wondering if this was really happening. He guided the car north, into the canyons that lay between them and the open desert.
Soon they reached an open stretch, past the hills. Back on level ground she told him to let it go, and open it up. James looked ahead of them; they were from what he could figure, due east of downtown Los Angeles. There wouldn't anything between them and...What? He'd never been out here. He'd flown to Los Angeles. Or had he? Was part of his memory missing? Suddenly he couldn't recall how he had gotten here. No matter, he put his foot on the gas and shifted deftly through the gears. They were flying. Now he saw the true beauty of the car, all the way to this point he'd stuck to the speed limit, leaving the powerful car feeling bogged down even in second. He looked at the speedometer. It read a hundred and twenty. The car begged for more. Caution set in as he looked ahead of them. The sky looked strange as if a storm was coming in. Normally he saw mountains in the distance when he was up in the Hollywood hills looking east. Now there was this foreboding nothing.
