Fruit

by Brian Francis

  “I saw you,” I said. “I saw you and your boyfriend last night.”

  Daniela whipped around.

  “You may be able to pull the wool over everyone else,” I said and crossed my arms. “But you can’t pull it over me.”

  Daniela dropped the shoe box she had in her hand and looked at me like I was a ghost.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” She ran over and yanked the garage door down.

  “In the window at your father’s restaurant,” I said. “You were wearing a green shirt and a hairnet and he was wearing a Burger King visor. Just for the record, it didn’t really go with his lumber jacket.”

  “Holy fuckin’ shit!” Daniela whisper/screamed. “You didn’t tell my parents, did you? Please tell me you didn’t tell my fuckin’ parents.”

  “No, I didn’t say anything. Why are you so freaked out?”

  “Promise you won’t say a fuckin’ thing?” Daniela asked. “I mean it. You can’t tell anyone about this.”

  I promised and showed her my hands so she could see my fingers weren’t crossed. Daniela sat down on an empty crate and took a big breath.

  His name was Phil, she said, and he worked full-time at Burger King along with Gianni. She had met him a couple of weeks ago. Gianni’s car had broken down in the parking lot one night, so Phil gave him a ride home.

  “My ma told him to stay for dinner. I didn’t think too much of him. Just another one of Gianni’s loser caker friends. But he keeps checking me out at dinner and fuckin’ winking at me. By the time the spumoni was on the table, the fucker was practically drooling. When I got up to clear the table, he tells me he’ll give me a hand. Then he leans over to me at the sink and asks me how old I am. I look at him and say, ‘I’m forty-fuckin-seven, so get lost.’ Then him and Gianni take off to the basement to whack off to Playboy magazines or do whatever guys do together.”

  Two nights later, Phil showed up at the restaurant. Daniela told him he must’ve been sniffing too much airplane glue — the Burger King was on the other end of town. But Phil said he’d come to see her. Daniela told him to go fuck himself.

  “Then he says, ‘I’m not joking. I’m serious.’ I say to him, ‘How much is Gianni paying you?’ and he says, ‘Gianni doesn’t even know I’m here. He’d kill me if he knew I was asking out his little sister.’ So then I kind of stop because I can see the fucker’s serious and I say, ‘Is that what you’re doing?’ and he says, ‘Yep,’ and I say, ‘I’ll think about it.’”

  Since then, Phil’s been trying to impress Daniela with presents. She pulled a gold chain with a shark’s tooth pendant out from underneath her turtleneck.

  “Do you think it’s real gold?” I asked her. It reminded me of Billy Archer’s necklace.

  Daniela shrugged. “Probably,” she said. “He’d know better than to try to pass fake gold off on me.”

  “So how old is Phil?”

  “Seventeen. Same age as Gianni. He made it halfway through grade 11 and dropped out to join the work force.”

  “Aren’t you a little young to be dating someone out of high school? I mean, you’re not even in high school yourself.”

  “I should be!” Daniela shot back. “I’d be in high school right now if those fuckin’ nuns didn’t have it in for me. I should be walking around high school right now, hanging out with people my own age, going to dances and stuff. But I’m not. I’m fuckin’ stuck at St. Mike’s and getting child abuse from my parents.”

  “Even if you were in grade 9, that’s still too young to date. And when do you have time to do your homework if you’re working and dating at the same time?”

  “Screw homework,” Daniela said. “They can fail me again for all I care. Besides, age doesn’t have anything to do with it. That’s what Phil told me when he gave me the necklace. He says when two people love each other as much as we do, it don’t matter. Only how they feel. Isn’t that fuckin’ romantic?”

  I said I guessed so, but I felt weird about the whole thing. On one hand, I was happy for Daniela, even though I didn’t want to admit it. On the other hand, Daniela should be concentrating on graduating grade 8 this year, not spending time with a high school dropout Banger.

  “Have you done It with him?” I asked her.

  “Not that it’s any of your fuckin’ business, but no,” Daniela said. “I’ve got more class than that. We dry humped in the storage room at the restaurant a couple of times, but that’s about it. He says he wants to do more, though, and that it’s the next step in our relationship. Thing is, it’s hard to find someplace private. Phil says his parents are nosy and spy on him. But he’s got this plan where I’ll sneak out of the house one night and he’ll meet me in his Thunderbird and we’ll go somewhere really private, like under the bridge. Or maybe one of those hotels out on the Golden Mile.”

  “Are you going to do it?”

  “Maybe,” Daniela said. She was winding a piece of her black hair around her finger. “Phil told me that he can’t stop thinking about me. He said I have to do It with him or else he’ll go crazy. He said I’m turning his balls three shades of blue.”

  I made a face. “Has he seen a doctor about it?”

  “He told me I’m the prettiest girl in Sarnia,” Daniela said, only she was talking more to herself than to me. “No one’s ever said that to me before. The prettiest girl in Sarnia. What do you make of that?”

  I knew Phil was Bad News with a capital B and N. And maybe I was no expert on dating, since I’d only been in love once and that was with an older woman who didn’t even know my name, but I knew enough.

  For starters, Daniela was too young to be dating. Even if she did fail grade 6, she was still in elementary school. And if she didn’t care about school, there was no way she was going to pass this year. Plus, Phil shouldn’t be making Daniela feel like she had to do It with him if she wasn’t ready. And finally, Phil was a Burger King Banger who didn’t even have a grade 12 education. He made Gianni look like a rocket scientist.

  I bet my bottom dollar that Phil was only after one thing. It was only a matter of time before he talked Daniela into doing something she’d regret later. I wanted to tell Daniela to stay away from Phil. But I knew that she’d never listen to me. She’d say I was jealous, which was partly true. Besides, even though I knew Phil was a loser, part of me didn’t want to be the person to tell Daniela. I knew I’d be doing her a favour, but I didn’t want to spoil things for her. I kept picturing her in the garage, cleaning off the tomatoes after she lost the Miss Basilico 1984 pageant. And I remembered how bad I felt that nothing had changed for her, even though she tried.

  I couldn’t tell Daniela’s parents or Gianni about Phil because what if they killed Phil and threw Daniela out of the house? I couldn’t tell my parents because my mother would make things even more messed up. And I knew I couldn’t tell Phil to back off and leave Daniela alone because what if he beat me up? There was no one to help Daniela except for myself and this time, a hot oil treatment wasn’t going to do the trick.

  Later that night, I sat down at my desk and wrote a letter to “Dear Constance.” Her column runs in the Observer every day, right beside the comics and the horoscopes. I think Constance is a very smart woman and I was sure she’d be able to give me some good advice.

  Dear Constance, I wrote. Help! I’m a fourteen-year-old boy living in Sarnia, Ontario, Canada. I read your column every day and think it’s great. Here’s a real doozey of a problem. I have a friend named Sofia (NOT HER REAL NAME). Sofia is fourteen and lives across the street from me. She’s Italian. She has a lot of problems, but there are too many to talk about. Anyways, Sofia has started dating this Banger. He’s a high school dropout, works at Burger King, and is trying to convince Sofia to do It with him. Constance, I know your heart must break to hear this, but please read on. Sofia’s not sure if she wants to do it. I KNOW she shouldn’t do it. Sofia should break up with this guy, but I don’t think she’ll listen to me. I can’t stand by and watch a friend of mine
just throw her life away!! Please tell me what you think I should do.

  Sincerely,

  Theodore Sinclair (NOT MY REAL NAME!!)

  I folded up the letter and was about to put it into an envelope when I realized it could be months before Constance got back to me. By then, it would be too late for Daniela. I crumpled up the letter and tried to figure out another plan. I knew the only way to save Daniela was to think like a secret agent. I needed to get evidence against Phil.

  I grabbed my camera from my dresser and went into the living room. Crouching down in front of the window, I took a couple shots of Daniela’s house.

  “What are you doing?” my mother asked. She was sitting on the sofa, watching Hee Haw.

  “School project,” I said and got out of there before she could ask anything else. The truth was, I wasn’t sure what I was doing, either — only that it seemed important to start off my plan taking photos to use as evidence.

  I sat back down on my bed, trying to figure out what pictures to take next. I knew I’d have to get a picture of Phil and Daniela together. That’s the only way I’d be able to prove my case in court. But how would I get that close up to them without being spotted? There must be a better way to break them up, I thought. Then it hit me.

  I grabbed the phone book from the kitchen and propped my desk chair under the door knob. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, considering how things went that last time I called Papa Bertoli, but I didn’t have a choice. I grabbed one of my socks and put it over the receiver to disguise my voice. Then I dialled the phone number. I was pretty nervous. On the fourth ring, someone picked up.

  “Allo?” the voice asked. It sounded like Mr. Bertoli, but I wasn’t sure.

  “Is this Mr. Bertoli?” I asked through the sock.

  “Allo?” “Is this Mr. Bertoli?” I asked again, only this time much louder.

  “Who isa dis? Allo?”

  “Mr. Bertoli, I have a very important message for you, so listen carefully.” Then I took a dramatic pause. I could see Mr. Bertoli, standing there in his apron, his eyes pointing in different directions.

  “Beware the Burger King Banger!” I said. Then I hung up. I thought I heard another “Allo?” as I was putting the receiver back, but I wasn’t sure. In any case, I felt better knowing that the matter was in Mr. Bertoli’s hands now.

  I kept an eye out for Daniela the next couple of days and wondered what Mr. Bertoli had done after I hung up on him. Did he start screaming in the middle of the restaurant? Did he go home and lock Daniela in the cellar? Did he call the Sarnia Mafia to make sure Phil never made another Whopper for the rest of his life?

  I was scared to see Daniela, too. What if she found out it was me who called and ratted on her? What if she was planning to get revenge on me? What if Phil was looking for me at that very moment with a baseball bat? I knew deep down that I’d done the right thing. Maybe someday, Daniela would learn to forgive me. But until then, I’d just have to go on living my life.

  For three whole days, there was no sign of Daniela. It was like she disappeared off the face of the earth. Whenever I walked up to the Bertoli’s porch to drop off the paper, I listened for moans or screams coming from inside the house. But there was nothing, except for the smell of Lysol creeping out from under the door.

  On the fourth day, I finally saw Daniela. I was never so glad to see her split ends in all my life. I was walking on the other side of the street delivering my papers when I heard someone shouting.

  “For the last time, I did clean the bathroom! Gianni just laid a fuckin’ egg in there!”

  Daniela was coming out of the house wearing her Basilico uniform. Her mother was standing in the living room window, shaking her fist at Daniela. Then Mr. Bertoli came out the side door and Daniela said, “C’mon! I’m gonna be fuckin’ late!”

  The two of them got into the Bertoli’s car while Mrs. Bertoli yelled from inside the house. Then the car pulled out of the driveway and took off down our street.

  I was glad to see that everything had gone back to normal.

  On Saturday afternoon, I went to the Shop ’N’ Bag to buy another roll of tape. While I was walking past Papa Bertoli, I looked in and saw Daniela, polishing silverware. She saw me and waved her hand for me to come inside. I was nervous about talking to her. What if she was going to yell at me?

  “How are you?” I asked, trying to sound as casual as I could.

  “Fine,” she said. Then her voice dropped down to a whisper. “Look what Phil gave me for our anniversary.”

  She pulled a tiny gold ring out of her pocket.

  “We’ve been together now for a whole month.”

  “You’re still with Phil?” My jaw nearly hit the floor.

  “Yeah, of course,” Daniela said, stuffing the ring back inside her pocket. “I told you already. He’s got the hots for me big time.”

  “Do your parents know about him yet?”

  “Fuck, no! What do you think I am? Crazy?”

  I knew I had to play it cool and not ask too many questions or else Daniela might get suspicious. So I just nodded. My phone warning to Mr. Bertoli didn’t work. Maybe he couldn’t understand me through the sock. He probably thought I was a prank caller.

  “Phil wants to take me out next weekend,” Daniela said. “He says his cousin is away and we can use his apartment.” She picked up a spoon and started polishing it like there was no tomorrow. “It’ll be the first time we’re alone. Alone, alone, if you know what I mean.”

  “That’s nice,” I said and smiled, even though I felt something like a bowling ball hit the bottom of my stomach. “What’ll you tell your parents?”

  “I’ll only be gone for a couple of hours or so,” Daniela said. “I’ll say I’m going to the fuckin’ mall or something.”

  While I was standing there, I saw Daniela in a way I hadn’t before. I realized that even though she had a plugged-up nose and split ends and still wet the bed, she was my friend. Maybe even my best friend. But it was weird to think that because boys and girls aren’t supposed to be best friends.

  I thought back to when Brian Cinder was teasing me, saying that I wanted to be a girl because I was hanging around the Goody-Goody Group. I was so embarrassed. But here was Daniela, a girl and my friend and I wasn’t embarrassed at all. And my friend was in a situation — a very dangerous situation, and even though she didn’t realize it, she needed my help. Her virginity was on the line.

  “I gotta go,” I told Daniela. “I have to pick up some stuff at the Shop ’N’ Bag. Do you want me to bring you anything?”

  “No,” Daniela said. “But remember — keep your mouth shut about me and you-know-who.”

  That night, I used a Kleenex instead of a sock.

  “Allo?”

  “Yes, is this Mr. Bertoli?” I made my voice as serious as possible. I was through fooling around. “Can you hear me, Mr. Bertoli? If you can, please say yes.”

  “Who isa dis?”

  “Never mind, Mr. Bertoli. My identity isn’t any of your business. But your daughter is my business.”

  “Who isa dis?”

  “I told you! Never mind. This isn’t about me. This is about Daniela.”

  “Daniela?”

  “Yes, Mr. Bertoli. And Phil, the Burger King Banger.”

  “Burger King? You gotta wrong number.”

  “No, I don’t!” I rubbed my temples. “Beware of Phil from Burger King. He is bad news.”

  “What isa bad news? Someone deys die?”

  “No, there is no bad news. I mean, Phil is bad news, Mr. Bertoli. Do you remember him? He gave Gianni a ride home from work one night and had dinner at your house. He is a bad seed. Do you understand?”

  “Phil? He’sa bad seed?”

  “Yes, that’s it, Mr. Bertoli. Now we’re on the same page. Phil is a bad seed.”

  “Who isa dis?”

  “Never mind. I don’t have time to play games with you. Just listen to me. Phil is the very worst kind of seed. A Bange
r seed. He’s after your daughter.”

  “Who? Who isa dis?”

  “Mr. Bertoli, you are not cooperating.” I tried to keep my voice down so my parents wouldn’t hear, but it was getting difficult.

  “Who isa dis?”

  “Mr. Bertoli, just listen to what . . .”

  “Who isa dis?”

  “I’m trying to tell you something very . . .”

  “Who isa dis?”

  Then I lost it.

  “GIANNI’S FRIEND PHIL WANTS TO FUCK YOUR DAUGHTER THIS WEEKEND! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME NOW?”

  I thought I heard a gasp on the other end, but I hung up very quickly. My heart was beating a million miles a minute. A secret agent would never blow his cool like that.

  “Peter, did I just hear you say what I think I heard you say?”

  It was my mother, calling from the kitchen.

  “No you didn’t,” I called back.

  I sat there for a minute and waited for my heart to slow down. The telephone call was very exciting and saying the f-word felt kind of good. Maybe that’s why Daniela uses it so much.

  I wondered what was happening at the restaurant. Was Daniela there? Where was Phil? Did Mr. Bertoli finally understand what kind of danger Daniela was in? I was pretty sure about one thing, though — Phil wouldn’t be coming to fuckin’ dinner at the Bertolis anytime soon.

  Daniela was out in the garage the next day. I was still nervous that she’d know it was me who blew the whistle on her and Phil. I decided I’d avoid her for the next little while in case she was angry at me. But as I tiptoed up her driveway to deliver the paper, Daniela turned and saw me.

  “I’m gonna murder that fuckin’ bitch!” she yelled. “She gets it in her head that her pizella iron is in a box somewhere in the garage. Of course, she can’t remember which fuckin’ box. I’m gonna strangle her, I swear to god.”