The Hole

by David Halliday

  “I work with her,” Helen said. I hope she doesn’t see me.

  “Oh, ya?” Joe turned back to his date. “How come I didn’t see her in the office?”

  “Maybe you show up at the wrong time. She spends a lot of time in Mr. Brennan’s office.”

  Joe laughed. “I’ll bet she does.”

  “No,” Helen protested. “It’s not like that.”

  “Baby, you are so naive. I like that in my women.”

  The Jazz Singer

  “I wish you could be a little more respectful.” Mary cleared the break-fast dishes off the table. “You hardly said a word to him this morning before he left. I can’t keep friends if you’re not going to be at least a little accommodating. Hank probably thinks you’re a real snob. That’s not the way I raised you.”

  Terry did not respond and continued to fill his mouth with corn flakes.

  “I like Hank,” Mary continued, lighting up a cigarette.

  “I thought you’d quit.” Terry’s words came out muffled.

  Mary looked at the cigarette in despair. “I forgot.”

  “You forget a lot of things,” Terry muttered.

  Mary ignored her son’s remark, tightening her housecoat. She filled the sink with hot water and dish detergent and began to do the dishes.

  “Someday I’m going to get an automatic dishwasher.”

  “Why is he always talking about dead people?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Last night he came out here to get a snack and I had to listen to all this shit about Al Jolson. Some dead guy who sang in the twenties. Like he expects me to go out and buy all this guy’s CDs. Who the hell is Al Jolson?”

  “Before your time,” Mary said.

  “And before your time too, Mom,” Terry said with a laugh.

  “Thank you for that.”

  “Jolson made this movie, The Jazz Singer. It was one of the first sound pictures.”

  “You see,” Mary said, cleaning out the sink and placing the washcloth to one side. She dried her hands, took the cigarette out of her mouth, and tapped its ashes into the sink. “You can learn something new every day.”

  “He sang this song ‘Mammy’ for me,” Terry said, shaking his head.

  “What’s wrong with that guy?”

  Mary shook with laughter. “He actually sang that song?”

  “On one knee,” Terry added, puzzled that this gesture would bring such happiness to his mother. “I think he’s a pedophile.”

  “Oh,” Mary sighed wiping the tears from her eyes, “I needed that.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? I think he’s a pedophile.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t even spell the word.”

  “Why would he go down on his knees in front of me?” Terry hated it when his mother didn’t take him seriously.

  “That was part of his act, Jolson’s act,” Mary explained, a cloud of smoke slipping between her teeth. “Like Michael Jackson’s moonwalk.” Terry was puzzled. He was sure his mom had gone off the deep end.

  “Who the hell is Michael Jackson?”

  Mary turned away, thinking about the night before. It had been a long time since she had been with a man. She’d been nervous. She wondered if it showed. She hoped she could make it up to Hank in the future although she had noticed he didn’t seem disappointed. And then there had been the terrible dream she had had about lawn bowling. She was watching the American national championship in Los Angeles when one of the competitors, Edward McGee, mistaking her head for a ball, had thrown her across the lawn, with the effect that she had lacerations on her chin and a chipped tooth. She’d woken up laughing and then had been scared out of her mind when she saw Hank’s face above hers staring down at her.

  “Do you think that you could turn on the radio the next time you have a guest over?” Terry suggested.

  “You were listening to us?”

  “Not by choice. Holy cow, who wants to listen to his mother and her lover talking about the lumber industry? Who cares that there was an increase in the production of species formerly little used or neglected?” Mary was silent for a moment, wondering if Terry had heard everything that had been said last evening.

  “Hank asked about your father,” Mary said.

  Terry turned and looked at his mother. “What did you tell him?” Mary shrugged. She finished the cup of coffee on the table. The coffee was cold. She dropped her cigarette in the cup.

  “I told him the truth.”

  Terry pushed his cereal bowl into the middle of the table.

  “Why do you have to talk about Dad?”

  Mary shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Does that guy ever stop talking?”

  Mary shook her head.

  “Tell him to stop asking me so many questions.”

  “Okay.” Mary smiled. “I’ll tell him.”

  “I never thought I’d see my mother dating a giant.” Mary broke out laughing. She stepped up behind her son, hugged him, and laughed some more.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Spy Camera

  Hank leaned over the counter and looked at the various cameras. A slightly overweight teenage girl dressed in a modest blouse and skirt stepped up opposite him.

  “Can I help you?” she asked. The braces that sparkled in her smile slurred her speech. Hank looked down and grinned mischievously.

  “Am I speaking to the owner?” he asked, keeping his eyes riveted to the girl’s.

  The girl blushed, then giggled. Was that supposed to be a joke?

  “No, I’m not the owner. Mr. Leblanc is out of the shop right now but I’m sure I could help you.” Why does Mr. Leblanc always pick the worst time to leave? I think he does it on purpose.

  Hank liked the girl. There was an openness and lighthearted assertive-ness that was appealing. How old was she? Sixteen maybe. She was not like his daughter who had long ago left home complaining that life there was too dull.

  “What’s your name, young lady?”

  “Adelle,” the girl replied, staring across the counter at the huge figure.

  Look at the size of his hands! Gives me the creeps. It’s like he’s a different species. I hate it when middle-aged men think they are being charming. She wished that Mr. Leblanc would come back soon. She didn’t like being in the shop alone. A girl in one of the dress shops at the Cloverdale Mall had been abducted the previous summer. It had been midday and there were other customers in the shop. No one had noticed her disappearance. We had to go to a special Mass to pray for her safe return. Her parents were there. Her father cried like a baby. It was so sweet.

  “Are you in high school?”

  “Yes,” Adelle replied. Does he think I chose this as a career? She wondered if she should be giving out information to a stranger. Perhaps she should excuse herself for a moment and phone the police. What would I say? That a customer is making me feel queasy?

  “I noticed your uniform.” Hank smiled, his eyes running over the length of her blouse and skirt. He’d sent his own daughter to a Catholic school in the middle of the city. She revolted against the uniform. There were constant calls from the nuns that his daughter was wearing her skirts too high. Adelle’s skirt was rather short. He wondered what Mr.

  Leblanc thought of that. Bastard probably can’t keep his eyes off her.

  “Oh.” Adelle giggled. “I go to St. Joseph’s.” I shouldn’t have said that.

  What if he starts to hang around the school? How would I explain that to the nuns?

  “That’s a Catholic girls’ school,” Hank said, his eyes dilating.

  Adelle nodded. He’s got that same goofy look that Mr. Leblanc has sometimes. Men are such slimeballs.

  Hank returned to his appraisal of the cameras on display.

  Adelle sighed. I hope he buys something soon. I’ve got to meet the gang.

  Hank glanced at her with a puzzled expression. She wants to meet her friends.

  Adelle held her breath and prayed that h
e wouldn’t ask what the sigh had meant. His eyes lowered to the glass counter. Adelle looked up at the ceiling. Make him go away!

  “I’m looking for a particular kind of camera,” he said.

  “Well, we have lots of cameras to choose from.” Adelle gestured to the contents of the shop. Mr. Leblanc will kill me if I lose this sale. But what the hell do I know about cameras?

  Hank stood up again and looked down at the girl. Adelle looked up at him sheepishly. She’s afraid of me. The thought pleased him.

  I hate it when middle-aged men think they are being intimidating.

  He continued, “This was a camera tested at Aberdeen Proving Ground in Maryland by the US Military. It takes pictures at one-hundred-mil-lionth of a second.”

  “Is that fast?” Adelle asked. Do I sound stupid or what?

  Hank nodded with a smile. “Very fast. They were placed in special balloons that were floated over enemy territory. They were spy cameras.”

  “Oh,” Adelle said earnestly. Why would anyone need a camera like that?

  “I don’t think we have anything like that.” Unless he’s some kind of pervert.

  Hank smiled with pleasure at the girl’s naivety. “No, I didn’t think you would. But, I was hoping that your boss might be able to get hold of one for me.”

  “Mr. Leblanc isn’t a spy,” Adelle said with such seriousness that Hank burst out laughing. I hate it when middle-aged men think they are being ironic.

  “No,” he said shaking his head. “These cameras have been out of cir-culation for some time. I was hoping that he might be able to find one in army surplus. Perhaps there is a catalogue he could look in.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Adelle sulked. I hate it when middle-aged men are being smart-asses.

  “No, I didn’t think you would,” Hank replied. He had gone too far.

  Something had upset the girl. Young people were so thin-skinned. Hank turned to leave the shop.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Adelle said, her voice now bold and insistent, “what would you need a camera like that for?”

  Hank looked back at the girl with disappointment. He could see the type of woman she would become.

  He said, “I want to take a picture down a deep hole.” Dead Languages

  Terry leaned against the wall of the storefront. Already on his third cigarette, he coughed and then coughed again. He cleared his throat. The tickle was gone. He sucked on his cigarette again. Where the hell is everyone? People walked up and down the covered sidewalk of the Six Points Plaza, in and out of the shops, dragging their kids with them. Walking down the front of the shops, two of his friends, Frank and Wiggy, ap-proached him. Frank was the shorter of the two. Quiet in manner and burly in appearance, Frank was the more down to earth. Boring. Wiggy was tall and gangly and loved to talk. There was nothing in the world more pleasant to Wiggy than the sound of his voice. Asshole. Greetings were extended and accepted. Wiggy lit up a cigarette.

  “Adelle should be out soon,” Terry explained. She’ll be late for her own funeral.

  “Where’s Cathy?” Frank asked.

  “She’s getting us some booze. Her older brother promised her he’d get us some gin.”

  “Gin!” Wiggy screwed up his face. “I can’t stand that stuff. Tastes like scotch tape.”

  “You can’t stand the taste of alcohol-period,” Frank said with a sneer.

  “You’re a weed man. I prefer bourbon.”

  “Bourbon!” Wiggy laughed. “Do you like your martini stirred or shaken, Mr. Bond?”

  “Bourbon ain’t a martini,” Frank responded. What an asshole!

  “Well, what the hell is it?” Wiggy cried. What a smart-ass!

  “Cut it out!” Terry interrupted. Morons!

  Wiggy waved his hand at Frank. “I get so sick of this guy’s pretensions. Thinks he’s a man of the world.”

  Wiggy stepped back and banged his shoulder against the wall.

  Frank laughed. “You really got the twitch tonight.” 30

  “ F you,” Wiggy said dismissively.

  “If you guys don’t knock it off,” Terry declared, “people are going to think you’re married.” He coughed and spat on the sidewalk.

  “Nice,” Frank responded, turning away. I really want to look at his mucus?

  “You see,” Wiggy pleaded with Terry, “he’s got to comment on everything. Like Howard Fucking Cossell. Next time you fart he’ll be evaluating your brand.”

  Terry laughed, then asked, “Did you get any weed?” Wiggy tapped the breast pocket of his jacket and smiled with pride.

  Frank looked around with trepidation. “Makes me nervous standing here like this. Couldn’t we get going?”

  “Relax,” Terry said. “Cops got better things to do than hassle us.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Frank muttered. “Remember Joey Artibello.”

  “Joey is an asshole,” Wiggy said and laughed. “Joey tells everyone he’s selling. What does he expect?”

  Frank pointed at Wiggy and laughed. “You’ve got a bigger mouth than Joey.”

  Wiggy shook his shoulders and straightened up. “Joey goes around telling everyone he’s got underworld connections. His f’ing father drives a hearse.”

  Frank waved Wiggy off.

  Wiggy changed course. “Did you see that documentary on Derringer last night? What a cool guy. Robbing banks. All the chicks he had. What a life! Did you know he had plastic surgery to change his appearance?

  Wanted to disappear from the public eye. In the end he was betrayed by a woman in red outside a movie theater in Chicago. I read that J. Edgar Hoover had the other agents hold Derringer down while he put a bullet in his head.”

  Terry shook his head. “I didn’t see it. What channel was it on?”

  “How would you disappear if you wanted to?” Wiggy asked.

  “We live in an age of information,” Frank said. “I’d have all my records, dental, medical, changed.”

  “Ya,” Wiggy cried, sucking on his cigarette, “but people could identify you from your photographs. You’d still need the plastic surgery.”

  “Change the photographs,” Frank argued. He stepped back to let a woman and her two children pass.

  Wiggy turned to Terry. “Can you do that?”

  Terry nodded.

  “Jesus!” Wiggy cried. “I don’t know how I’d disappear. Even with plastic surgery and changing all your ID, there’s a chance someone would recognize you. I’d go to some south seas island maybe. Some place where no white man has been. I’ve seen pictures of the chicks on those islands. Topless, man. And they’ve got nothing else to do all day but fuck. It would be paradise, man. I heard about a guy who went to Mexico and got laid using Canadian Tire money.”

  “Right,” Terry responded.

  “With your face, you’d stand out like a sore thumb,” Frank said then turned to Terry. “Got any ideas on how old Wiggy here could disappear?”

  “We could drop him down a deep dark hole,” Terry responded, flicking his cigarette into the parking lot. Frank and Terry laughed.

  “Very funny.” Wiggy released a cloud of smoke and coughed.

  A moment later Adelle exited from the camera shop. She shuffled up next to the boys and asked for a cigarette. Terry handed her one.

  “Sorry. I had this strange dude in the shop who wanted to buy some kind of spy camera and then when Mr. Leblanc returned I had to explain what kind of camera this guy was looking for. Mr. Leblanc was thinking of calling the police.”

  “Spy camera!” Wiggy exclaimed.

  “Old man Leblanc is always keeping you late. Did he come on to you again?” Frank laughed.

  Adelle turned and glared at Terry.

  “You didn’t expect me to keep that a secret, did you?” Terry responded.

  “You don’t have to advertise it,” she said angrily. “If my mom hears about Mr. Leblanc, she’ll make me quit the job. I like the work and it’s easy and I can handle Mr. Leblanc. He’s
just lonely.”

  “Horny too!” Wiggy responded with a laugh and a cough. “Can you imagine an old guy like that? Probably got bigger tits than you.” Adelle smacked Wiggy in the arm. He cried out.

  Wiggy winced. “What was that for?”

  “For being an asshole!” Adelle said with a smirk.

  “I like it when you hit me,” Wiggy countered. “Do it again!”

  “Fuck off!” Adelle cried.

  In the distance thunder rolled. They looked up into the sky.

  “Man!” Frank cried.

  The four friends moved along the plaza, forcing other pedestrians to move around them. Adelle choked on her cigarette smoke.

  “You smoke too much,” Terry said to Adelle as he cleared his throat.

  “Are you my mother now?” Adelle cried.

  “So old man Leblanc is groping you, eh?” Wiggy gargled with laughter. “Fill us in on the details, mama.” Adelle glared at Wiggy.

  “There are no details,” she said.

  Wiggy shook his head, sucking on his cigarette and snorting with each breath.

  “There are always details. Man, you could blackmail him. We take a few pictures next time and you’re set for life. Won’t want the little wife at home to see pix of him groping the hired help.”

  “He lives with his mother,” Terry added, then turned to Adelle.

  “Wiggy just wants some pictures to wank over.” Adelle laughed.

  “Oh,” Wiggy responded and thought for a moment. “I don’t need to wank. I can get all the pussy I need.”

  “Ya, right!” Frank laughed. “Hell, the only pussy you see is your mom’s.”

  Adelle laughed. Wiggy turned to her.

  “Frank is so funny. In his own mind!”

  “Did you tell your mom you got expelled?” Terry asked.

  “Not expelled-suspended!” Wiggy grinned proudly. “Shit, no. Why should I upset my old lady? They said I skipped too many Latin classes.

  Dead language. You gotta be dead to attend those classes.”

  “How does a language die?” Frank asked. “Did everyone die who was using it?”

  Adelle smirked. “People stopped speaking it.”

  “Whaddya mean? Did they stop talking? Can you imagine if we stopped speaking English? There would be chaos.”