The Virgin Manny

by Amy Lane

  “Stop it!” Tino snapped, unable to take the way Arthur’s shoulders were hunching. The young giant had practically shrunk down to six feet tall. “Man, we’ve all done that, you know? I did it my first week, you did it in your first month—”

  “But he’s been here a year, Tino!”

  “Well that makes him smarter than us, doesn’t it!” Tino yelled back. And then they both started coughing and Tino tugged a reluctant Arthur outside. He didn’t stop to see what Katy was doing—as long as she didn’t die of smoke inhalation, he didn’t much care.

  “I’m sorry,” Arthur mumbled beside him, miserable and embarrassed.

  “It’s not your fault,” Tino said back, because it really wasn’t. He hadn’t seen the whole incident, but he could just imagine Katy yelling at him to clean up the grill and Arthur forgetting that you didn’t put stuff on the panini maker when it was hot because he got so flustered.

  Arthur was such a good worker, but pressure situations were not his thing.

  “This is a shitty job anyway,” Tino said, responding to what was in his head and not to any noise Arthur had made. “You and me should quit.”

  “Who’s going to hire me?” Arthur asked, so destroyed that Tino wanted to cry for him. Tino looked unhappily at his friend and then looked out to the table where Channing and Sammy were enjoying the clean air. Sammy had looked up from his coloring book with the excitement of the smoke, and now he looked animatedly at Tino while munching a cookie.

  Channing was looking at Tino too, but lazily, as though he could look at Tino all day.

  Well, fine. Mr. Channing Lowell liked to rattle his saber for the poor and disenfranchised? Let’s see him rattle it for Arthur, who needed a job where people didn’t yell at him and where a strong work ethic and good intentions counted for something.

  “Arthur, this is Sammy. Sammy, this is Arthur. Channing, can I talk to you for a moment?”

  Tino didn’t wait for compliance, and Arthur was just so relieved to be able to sit down and be invisible to Katy’s gimlet eye that he picked up Sammy’s discarded coloring book and started doodling.

  “Who’s that?” Channing asked, looking amused. “Boyfriend?”

  Tino shook his head. “Just… look.” He glanced over Channing’s shoulder and made sure Arthur couldn’t hear. “He’s about to lose his job—he’s a great worker, but he needs something where he’s got time and isn’t given sixteen thousand instructions in a minute, okay? He’s not stupid, but….” Tino tried hard to remember what Arthur had told him. “Communication handicap—that’s it. He just doesn’t process words fast. So can we, you know—if you can get him a job where people are nice to him—” Tino’s voice cracked—he was genuinely distraught. “Arthur’s a friend,” he said, calming down. “He’s just a good guy, but he can’t drive, and interviews terrify him.”

  Channing nodded. “No—no, it’s okay. Look, I got it. I’ll take care of your friend—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know—if I sign the contract.” Great. Way to get your way, Mr. Bazillionaire.

  “No,” Channing contradicted. “There are no strings on that. You say he’s a good worker. I’ve got some people I can call. Here, can I at least have your e-mail?”

  Tino let out a big breath and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He unlocked the window and handed it over, keypad out. “Punch in your info,” he said. “Text yourself. It’s okay.”

  Channing looked at him over the phone as he was keying in his number. “You sure?”

  Tino swallowed and nodded. “You’re helping my friend on my say-so alone,” he said softly, admitting the absolute worst—which was that Channing was not the absolute worst. “If I’m not leaving Arthur alone here, I’ve got no reason to stay.”

  Channing’s slow smile rocked him to his knees. “Give me three days. Tell your friend he can quit—you both can quit today.”

  “He’s not quitting until he has another job,” Tino said stonily. He was not going to let his buddy swing in the breeze.

  “Fair enough.” Channing nodded, obviously taking this very seriously, which was reassuring. “I’ll do him right, Tino—have some faith.”

  Tino’s smile was not nearly as pleasant. “Okay. Thank you. I’m going to go find Katy.” The expression became almost feral. “I’m going to make sure she’s not dead.”

  “HE’S going to get me a job?” Arthur sounded really unsure, and Tino didn’t blame him. You just didn’t quit ten dollars an hour on the say-so of your buddy’s buddy. But Tino actually had some faith.

  “Can you put up with Katy for three days?” he asked, cleaning up the coloring pages that Sammy and Arthur had left after Channing had taken his nephew someplace that didn’t stink of ozone. He stopped as he was gathering the pages, though. Some of the work was very much Sammy’s—neat, prim, with lovely use of color. Some of it was very much Arthur’s—the work of a guy whose fine motor skills had never really developed, and who wore ripped shirts and giant jeans to work every day.

  Both kinds of work had For Tino scrawled at the top, and Tino held Arthur’s work up and winked. “Aw, Artie….”

  Artie blushed, the patches between his massive hair and massive beard growing blotchy. “That kid really likes you. I have small siblings. When they’ve found a person, you don’t mess with that.”

  Tino sighed and grimaced. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Lainy used to just focus on people—her first-grade teacher, her babysitter—and those were her favorite favorite people forever. I don’t know what made them so special, but we learned not to screw around with it.”

  “Yes.” Artie handed more work to Tino with a flourish and a sarcastic smile. “You imprinted on him, Tino. Like a baby duckling. Like I imprinted on you.”

  Tino laughed, happy and surprised. Arthur was like that, genuinely funny and clever sometimes—just as long as people didn’t yell in his face.

  “Yeah, well, we may have to split up the team. I hope that’s okay.”

  Arthur’s eyes slid sideways, and Tino realized with a pang how hard it was for this guy to find a peer group. Smart and educated, but not glib. Sarcastic and funny, but not quick. Straight, but oi! Listening to him talk to a pretty girl was painful. Tino just crossed his fingers and rooted for one, just one, to take a deep breath and wait for the punch line of one of Arthur’s jokes. He was still waiting, but he had faith.

  “Can you come over and watch movies?” Artie asked, and Tino nodded reassuringly.

  “Hey, if all this works out, I’ll have a car. Maybe I can bring Sammy over and he can play with your little people. Would your mom be cool with that?”

  Artie’s smile was so bright, he almost glowed.

  Okay, Mr. Lowell, Tino thought grimly. You’d better not be pulling this guy’s chain.

  TWO days later, a guy in a drapery service van drove to Panera, pulled Arthur out on his break, and interviewed him. The next day—three days, which was all Channing had asked for—Arthur walked in with his uniform and quit.

  On his way out, he gave Tino a bear-crusher of a hug and an almost tearful thank-you. The job as the manager of a very tiny warehouse sounded about perfect for him, and the family-operated business seemed right up his alley. Arthur also gave a promise to keep in touch, and Tino was reassured—the big guy had been one of the best parts of this shitty job.

  Tino watched him go and turned toward Katy, who was doing a gleeful happy dance on the back line.

  “Yeehaw!” she crooned. “That idiot is the hell out of the store.”

  Tino took off his visor and gave up. “And this idiot is getting his ass out too, you vicious bitch,” he said clearly. With that, he put both hands on the counter and vaulted over, leaving his transaction with the little man with the thick glasses completely unfinished. Tino knew what it was—coffee, black, and a bowl of unsweetened oatmeal—but so did the rest of the store. “Y’all y’all, I quit!”

  He ignored the stunned looks he got from the customers—and Katy’s helpless squealing behind him begging
him to come back—and just kept on walking. He slid in behind the wheel of his mother’s Oldsmobile and tried not to gag on the scent of her one perfumed cigarette a day. As soon as he had the car running and pumping AC in the hot May sunshine, he pulled out his phone.

  For a moment he sat there, eyes closed, and wondered if he was doing the right thing.

  Then he remembered Artie’s proud face as he’d quit.

  No risk, no reward—wasn’t that what he’d been learning for the past four years?

  He pulled the number up and dialed.

  Channing answered on the third ring.

  “Uh, yeah,” Tino said, glad that his voice stayed firm. “Mr. Lowell?”

  “Martin!” Channing said smugly, and Tino sort of wished the man didn’t know his full name. It felt awfully personal. “To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?”

  “Don’t be a bastard,” Tino muttered and then remembered his manners. “I just…. Arthur got his new job and got to leave today—and I wanted to say thank you. You totally came through, and I’m grateful.”

  The smarm in Channing’s voice fell away. “That’s good to hear,” he said gently. “So—”

  “So my finals are done. I have my ceremony in two days, and I seem to be between jobs,” Tino said baldly. “And you just proved you’re not an asshole.”

  “Yes!” Channing hissed, and Tino had to laugh, imagining him doing the fist-pump. “Does that mean—”

  Tino held tight to his dignity with both hands. “If, uh, the offer still stands, I could sign that contract as soon as I get home.”

  Channing’s laughter was warm and hearty and did fuzzy, exciting things to the pit of Tino’s stomach. “Do I take it you just quit?” he asked.

  “Yeah—I’m driving away as soon as I hang up.”

  “Well, you could always drive here and sign the contract,” Channing wheedled, and Tino rolled his eyes.

  “I could always drive home and tell my mom and dad why I’m moving in with some strange rich guy and being the manny all of a sudden.” Oh Lord. His parents had no idea Channing had even offered. His mother was going to lose her shit in no small way, and his father… dear God, the device had not yet been invented that would measure Tino’s father’s reaction.

  “Fair enough,” Channing conceded. “So, uhm, when….”

  Tino thought about it. “Well, my graduation ceremony is Thursday, then there’s drinking, then there’s sleeping it off. How about Sunday afternoon—will that work?”

  “Perfect,” Channing practically purred. “I like how you avoided being here over the weekend, with all that scary leisure time while I’m at home.”

  Tino grunted. “I like how you think I’m scared of you.”

  And oh! That laugh! It set his heart racing like he was running away from something.

  “I like how you think you’re not,” Channing chortled, and then he sobered. “I’ll see you Sunday around eleven. We’ll be serving brunch, so come prepared.”

  Tino grunted, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and trying not to pick off the disintegrating vinyl cover. “For all you know, my whole family will be riding convoy with my cousin’s panel truck—”

  “Text me in the morning and tell me how many,” Channing told him crisply. “As many people as want to come check me out, Tino. I am fine with that. I’m not a serial killer, you’re not going to come to my web and disappear. I would love to meet your family.”

  Tino groaned. “You suck,” he said with feeling. “I am sneaking out of the house like a criminal just to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  And Channing was still laughing when Tino signed off and hit End Call.

  Cross Town and on the Surface of the Moon

  TO Tino’s complete surprise, his parents were totally on board with Channing’s plan.

  “You’re fine with this?” he asked his father, waving his hands in dismay. “For all you know, this guy could be a serial killer!”

  Tino’s father was trim and handsome, with thick, graying black hair and Tino’s little oval face with a few more wrinkles and a big thick mustache. He settled back on his recliner, tired from his night waiting tables, and smiled wearily at his son.

  “No, I don’t think he’s a serial killer, because your sister has been visiting this house for a year, and any serial killer worth his salt would totally have taken her first.”

  Tino put his hands on his hips and refrained from pointing out that Channing hadn’t even lived at the house the year before. “Why? Why would she be the first to go?”

  “Because she’s obviously sturdier—she’s a better trophy than our scrawny son, who would eat us out of house and home if he didn’t eat at his job.”

  “Which he no longer has,” Tino’s mother added, laughing from her knitting corner on the couch.

  “You two are hilarious,” Tino muttered. “Aren’t you worried about this at all?”

  “Worried about what?” Peter Robbins asked, smiling slightly. “That you’ll get your student loans paid off and you won’t be starting out from a hole? I looked over the contract, Tino—it’s been a while, but I don’t see any holes in that document. You’re covered.”

  Tino’s father used to be a contract lawyer for Hewlett-Packard, before it had been downsized. The legendary—and legendarily cruel—business move had left a lot of the workers without a place to go. Tino remembered the moment his father had realized that all his education hadn’t been able to earn him another job.

  He’d smiled grimly and walked into one restaurant after another until he’d gotten a job at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse in the Galleria. “I’ve got more than one job skill, Tino, and a burning need to feed my family. Pride isn’t a thing when you’ve got people you love.”

  If anything Tino had loved his father more after that—but it didn’t make accepting the contract from Channing any easier.

  “I’m worried that I’m not getting it fairly,” Tino said with dignity.

  “Well, your Mr. Lowell didn’t get it fairly,” his mother said. Stacy Robbins was still a very pretty woman, with high cheekbones and a wide-mouthed smile. She was no longer the size two she’d been before children, but she was still damned trim. She’d gotten a degree in home economics, and had turned a family history of women who worked as housekeepers for pennies into a thriving business where her employees got both respect and a living wage. She used to work in the houses with her girls—and a few young men—but her back had given out, forcing her into the office most days. Better for her body, yes, but she missed the being active, being involved. Tino had worked through high school with an acute knowledge that even hard work and intelligence didn’t always get you to comfort, not even when you’d been working all your life.

  “He’s not a cheat!” Tino denied hotly, and then wondered what was wrong with him. “I mean—”

  “I know he’s not,” his mother laughed. “You told us yourself—he got his money from his parents. It’s not how much money a person has, Tino—we’ve always believed it. It’s what a person does with the gifts he’s had, and your Mr. Lowell is doing his best. And even if he’d been a robber baron, that wouldn’t change the fact that he’s trying to do the best for his nephew. Maybe it’s time to stop looking at this like the devil trying to buy your soul and start looking at him like the lucky break that everybody gets from time to time.”

  Tino looked at his parents, both of them tired from a long week and relaxing into a simple evening of television, knitting, and his father following sports covertly on his phone when he was supposed to be shotgunning Gotham on Netflix.

  “What lucky break did you guys get?” he asked, trying not to be bitter.

  His father heard it, though, and he sighed and pushed the recliner upright. “Are you the child of divorce, Tino? Did anybody you know die? Did you ever, once, not have enough to eat?”

  “No, sir,” Tino said, shamed.

  “All of that’s lucky. Now this nice, rich gentleman is offering you honest money fo
r a summer’s worth of work, and he considers you his lucky break. Perhaps we can be grateful for this gift horse and stop trying to count its teeth, you think?”

  “Very Homerian,” Tino grumbled. “How am I supposed to get there on Sunday, anyway?”

  “Don’t you have a useless friend with access to all sorts of cars that aren’t his?” his mother asked, looking wistfully behind Tino, where the television sat on pause. “Because if you don’t, I guess I could take you. I understand there’s free food.”

  Tino laughed a little and said, “He did offer to feed everybody brunch.”

  “Very kind,” his father said, yawning, “but I’m working brunch that day. I think your mom’s idea about your useless friend is probably the best one.”

  “You don’t want the free brunch?” Tino asked, but he was moving out of the way of the TV as he spoke.

  “I want you to work with this man as an employer,” his mother said gently. “That’s hard to do when Mommy has to give the seal of approval.”

  Tino had to chuckle at that. “Go ahead and watch your shows,” he said fondly, bending down to kiss her cheek before he left the room. “I’ll go call my useless friend.”

  THE graduation ceremony at Sleep Train Arena was exactly what he expected: big, impersonal, and hot. The small party his friend Jacob threw for him and a few of their friends was one of those happy, everybody-is-slightly-buzzed affairs that made you glad you went. Arthur had been invited, and he’d smiled shyly and told everybody about how he got to organize window treatments and make sure the right products were pulled out and ready for the installation vans to pick up—and how his pits didn’t stink like Panera when he was done with a day’s work. Tino watched his friend’s proud face and felt better and better about accepting help.

  Like his parents said, everybody got a lucky break, right? Arthur didn’t have any problems taking a friend’s help.

  When Sunday arrived, Jacob was fully as embarrassing as Tino had feared. He managed to procure an F-150 from his boss, who actually owned the vehicle, and together they moved Tino’s clothes, his books, and his most prominent comfort objects to Channing’s house. As they pulled up to the front of the house, Jacob whistled lowly.