PART III
Chapter 38
For the second night in a row Joan Amognes came home to an empty driveway, and for the second night in a row as she shifted the Buick into park Joan thought about the pork chops she’d removed from the freezer before going to work the day before, good, thick pork chops she wasn’t about to waste. Husband or no husband, the pork chops in the fridge were going into the frying pan, and if Claude missed dinner again he could eat his chops cold, by himself, along with cold peas, cold mashed potato, and whatever tapioca pudding remained, which wouldn’t be much since Joan promised to finish off the bowl herself before leaving any for him to enjoy.
After unlocking the front door, Joan went to the family room to hang her jacket in the closet. The answering machine light blinked, so she tapped the play button and paused to listen.
Beep: “Hi, this is Dr. Uribe’s office. Jamie’s due for her next cleaning. Please call our office at your convenience and schedule an appointment. Thank you.”
Beep: “Hey, Claude, this is Scotty. Listen, I just want to apologize for the way I’ve acted the last couple days, and hope you understand. I’m real sorry to hear about your disability, and I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye. Stop by the Dub and I’ll buy you a beer. Look forward to it. Bye.”
Disability, Joan thought. What the hell’s he talking about?
Beep: “Hi Bugsy, it’s Frank. Congratulations, you old dog. I’m so happy for you, and hope everything works out well, though I gotta tell you it’s gonna be strange being in stores without ya. I’ll swing by some time and we’ll shoot the shit, or come by the Dub this Friday and I’ll buy you a pitcher. Take it easy.”
Joan flopped onto the couch. Did her husband leave Rhode Island Electric for another company? Was he in the hospital? Did he finally pass the stupid lineman test? Maybe he won the lottery. The word disability ran through her head over and over. After a few minutes, she climbed off the sofa and headed for the kitchen.
When she turned the corner from the living room, she saw two bottles of champagne on the table, one resting atop a folded-up scrap of paper, both surrounded by three wine goblets. She tugged the scrap of paper until it popped free.
“I’ll explain when I get home. Claude.”
Again Joan sat and pondered. Although she nagged herself to stop thinking and start making dinner, she didn’t move until she heard a car pull into the driveway. She scurried to the breezeway window, but it wasn’t Claude, it was Jamie and Peter Greeley.
“Hi mom,” Jamie called as she came through the front door. “Peter and I are going upstairs for a while. When are we eating?”
“About an hour, I hope,” Joan called back. “But come out here first.”
Jamie complied, followed by Peter. Joan showed them the champagne and the note, then led them to the family room and replayed the tape for them to hear. When the machine beeped at the end of Frank’s message, Jamie grabbed her mother and jumped up and down.
“We’re rich,” she said, “we’re rich, rich, filthy rich. Daddy won the lottery, after all these years he finally won the lottery.”
“Are you sure?” Joan said. “What about the disability part Mr. Williams mentioned?”
“Daddy doesn’t have any disability,” Jamie said. “Mr. Williams must’ve meant the headache and the ambulance ride. He sounded pretty upset when I talked to him on the phone, and when I went to get the truck, I saw a bunch of the other guys, but not Mr. Williams. Besides, what else could it be?”
Joan said she didn’t know, asked Peter Greeley if he liked pork chops, and invited him to dinner when he said he did. He thanked her, but said he had things to do and couldn’t stay long. Jamie and Peter went upstairs to Jamie’s room. Joan went to the kitchen to fix dinner.
Upstairs, Jamie caught Peter by an empty beltloop and pulled him from the chair he was headed for to the edge of her bed. She pushed the door until only a crack of light shone through, then stepped in front of Peter. She took his jaw in her hands and kissed him. When they separated, she flipped on the radio and hopped on the bed beside him.
“Who were those people on the answering machine?” Peter said.
“A dentist is a person who cleans your teeth, and who fixes cavities when you get them. You should check one out sometime.”
“You so funny,” Peter said.
“I know,” Jamie said. “I should be on television. Mr. Williams is my dad’s shop steward, and Mr. Dombrowski is one of my dad’s union brothers who drives the huge crane in the stockroom.”
“Does your dad like being in a union?”
Jamie looked at the wall and ran a knuckle beneath her chin. “He hates it because he loves it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, it means I don’t think there’s anything in this world he’d like to love more than his union, but it’s disappointed him so many times that he can’t. Each time he expects it to rub his belly, it punches him in the gut.”
“Sounds rough,” Peter said.
“Nah,” Jamie said. “He takes it way too seriously. Union officials aren’t any different from class officers in school. They don’t have to do what everyone else does, so they can strut around thinking they’re a big deal, when the truth is most of them are petty, selfish, conceited morons. God, the crap my dad tells me about, you wouldn’t believe it. And he gets it from my grandfather, who used to be president of the union. Whenever my dad thinks of his dad, all he sees is a guy who was president of the union, glory be, he never sees a guy who drank himself to death because he couldn’t stand going back to his job and doing real work, not after sitting in a union office pretending to be important, not after being the great Jackie Amognes, the guy who could get you a job with a wave of the hand or fix it so you could get paid for sitting around doing nothing all day as long as you were willing to kiss his ass and make it look like you meant it. My grandmother hated the union, and wished my grandfather had never had anything to do with it, but in the end, she said she had to let him keep at it, because he loved it so much. She always hoped everything would work out, but it never did. He was pretty miserable toward the end of his life.”
“My stepfather’s like that,” Peter said. “He’s been overlooked for a promotion like five years in a row now, and he takes it out on us. If you haven’t got a job at all and you’re letting your family down, well yeah, be miserable. But to turn your life into never-ending torture because you’re a half-step below where you think you should be on some company ladder, I mean, Christ, lighten up already. Your family’s eating. They have clothes. It’s like he’s always cursing the bastard twisting his thumbscrews, without ever realizing the bastard is him.”
Jamie set a palm on the top of Peter’s head. As she began a gentle stroke toward the nape of his neck, the palm pulled away and the tips of her fingers pressed through his hair to follow the contour of the bone. She repeated the stroke. Peter smiled.
“When we’re rich, maybe you and me will take off somewhere,” Jamie said. “No parents, just us. Someplace warm.”
“With no drinking age.”
“And coconut trees and pretty sunsets.”
“And topless beaches.”
#
When Jamie heard someone pull into the yard, she jumped from the bed and raced down over the staircase to the living room. She opened the door, saw Claude’s huge grin, and bounced up and down. Joan hustled in from the kitchen. Peter Greeley came to the bottom of the stairs and stopped.
Claude stepped through the door. “I’m home free,” he yelled. “Free, free, free, I’m home fucking free.”
“Did you win the lottery?” Jamie said. “Are we rich?”
“We’re not rich,” Claude said, “but you could definitely say I hit the lottery.”
“Well what happened?” Joan said.
Claude paused, held an index finger in the air, and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with the bottle of champagne and four wine glasses.
“Hold your horses,” Claud
e said as he poured.
He gave the first glass to Jamie, the second to Joan, and the third to Peter after he’d waved him into the group. Claude poured one for himself, drank it down, and refilled the glass.
“What?” Joan said. “What happened?”
“The electric company,” Claude said slowly, attempting a dramatic pause, “thinks I have a disability. They have offered to pay me sixty percent of my salary for not working, with free health care, until I turn 65.”
“You don’t have any disability,” Joan said. “What disability could they possibly think you have?”
“Well my dear,” Claude said in the same affected voice as before, “recall an incident I had as a meter reader many years ago, an incident in which I was attacked by insects.”
“Yeah, so?
“So last week, just before I had that awful headache, the one I had to go to the hospital for, I had spiders on me. The boss himself saw them. When Clarkie, the H.R. man, called me into the office, I told him about the spiders, and after he looked at the doctor reports, and interviewed my co-workers, and talked about my hospital tests with the medical staff, they decided I have a fear of insects, a phobia, they call it, and since they can never be sure they’ve gotten rid of every insect in the stores department, they decided the potential risk was too great, and have offered to pay me not to work. I signed the papers today.”
“But daddy,” Jamie said. “You aren’t afraid of bugs.”
“I know, Princess. But they think I am.”
“But you’re not.”
“I have papers that say I am.”
Jamie turned and set her still-full glass of champagne on the windowsill. “I don’t care what the papers say, it’s dishonest.”
Claude stepped back. He realized he wasn’t seeing the smiles he expected.
“What’s the matter?” he said. “Aren’t you happy for me?”
“How are we going to manage?” Joan said. “Forty percent of your salary is a big chunk to lose.”
“We can manage,” Claude said. “Plus, I can always get another job if I feel like it.”
Peter moved through the group. When the three sets of eyes turned to him, he tossed his arm forward to separate his wristwatch from his sleeve, and spent an extra count looking at the time.
“Daddy, you’re not disabled,” Jamie said. “If you work someplace else, isn’t the electric company going to be mad? I mean, if you can work, you should work there.”
Claude’s change of expression conveyed his annoyance, and Peter took it as his cue to move.
“Well, Mr. Amognes,” he said, raising his glass, “congratulations. I hope your early retirement brings you years of happiness.”
“Now there’s someone talking good sense,” Claude said.
He and Peter downed their champagne. After Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he gave the empty glass to Jamie. Claude lifted the bottle and took a long swig. Peter edged toward the door, but before leaving leaned back inside and mouthed to Jamie over Claude’s shoulder that he’d call her later. Claude wheeled around and grabbed the doorknob. Peter flinched.
“Am I blocking you in?” Claude said.
Although he already knew his answer, Peter took a quick glance toward the driveway for Claude to see. “It’s tight, but I can make it. Have a good night.”
“Okay,” Claude called. “Good night.”
“He’ll never get out,” Joan said. “Claude, go move the truck.”
“He’s fine,” Claude said. “So who wants to celebrate? Let’s finish this champagne and go out to dinner. Best restaurant in town. You name it, we’re there.”
Joan and Jamie exchanged looks. “I have pork chops ready to go into the pan,” Joan said.
“So chuck ‘em,” Claude said. “We’re not going to the poor house. We’re going to live just like we always have, you’ll see. It’s gonna be great. Here, look what I bought.”
He pulled from his pocket a colorful, glossy flyer and handed it to Joan.
“A boat?” she said.
“Not just a boat, a Princecraft Pro 166, aluminum, deep vee hull, sixteen and a half feet long with a 90 horsepower motor, a five-piece top, and the full fish package. A dream come true.”
“We can’t afford another loan,” Joan said. “We haven’t even paid off the truck you wrecked, let alone this truck and the Buick. Our mortgage rate went up again this year, and we’re behind on all our credit cards. We can’t afford it. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking shit. Rhode Island Electric gave me a check for vacation time I’ve earned but haven’t used, plus a nice bonus for all my years of loyal service. I didn’t take out a damn loan. I paid cash. Now are we going out to celebrate, or what?”
Joan fought back tears. “I don’t think we should waste good pork chops.”
“Fine,” Claude said. “Have your fucking pork chops. I’ll go celebrate with people who care. Don’t wait up.”
He slammed the door. Joan and Jamie noticed his jacket on the back of the chair, but knew he wouldn’t return for it. When Joan pulled back the curtain, she saw the odd angle of Peter Greeley’s car as he tried to extricate it without hitting either the truck or the garage. Claude climbed into the cab, slammed the drivers side door shut, and blasted backwards into the street and off toward the city. Peter backed slowly out of the driveway, tooting once before driving away.
Joan cooked the pork chops. When Jamie smelled them, she set the table. Joan didn’t turn around or talk to Jamie, and when she sniffled over the sizzle Jamie knew why.
“I’m sorry,” Joan said as she turned from the stove with the pan. “I’m trying not to cry.”
Joan slipped a pork chop onto each plate. She returned the pan with the remaining two chops to the stove and turned off the burner. The microwave timer beeped, the screen blinking ‘end’ until Joan set an unopened jar of applesauce and two dinner rolls on the table. She pushed the microwave button to unlatch the glass door, removed a steaming dish of peas with the tips of her index fingers, and shoved the glass door closed with her elbow. When she could no longer avoid her daughter’s eyes she smiled and shrugged as two final tears dripped over her cheeks.
“It’s all right, mom,” Jamie said. “We’ll be all right. Honest. I can chip in if I need to.”
“It’s not that,” Joan said.
“Then what is it?”
Joan slipped into her chair as Jamie poured them each a glass of milk. “It’s our family. A family can be poor if there’s love and trust. You and I could live poor. Maybe you and your father could live poor. But I’m terrified that your father and me can’t live poor, not now, not with the way we’re used to spending money. I’m just scared to death about what this is going to do to us.”
“It’s only money,” Jamie said. “We’ve got so many things we don’t need it isn’t funny, so I’m sure it won’t be that hard to live on a little less. Plus, like I said, I’m willing to help out. I should be getting a raise soon, and I think I can get more hours if I ask, and heck, if I need to I can go back to babysitting when I’m not working. Anything I can do, if it helps, I’m happy to do it. You know that.”
“I do know it, and I appreciate it. Your father and me, we’re important to you, and you’d make whatever sacrifices you could to help us get along a little better. But you see, Jamie, that’s sort of what I’m looking for from your father.”
Tears returned to Joan’s eyes. She put her fork next to her as-yet-untouched plate and used her napkin to sop her eyes.
“Lord knows your father can be one selfish son of a bitch,” Joan said. “Maybe he learned from his father when he should have been learning from his mother, I don’t know, but I’ve got to tell you that no matter how much trouble he got into at work, no matter how much he ignored me or did stupid things with our money, no matter what disgusting thing he did to get people calling him scum, I could always hold my head up and say he’s a provider. For all his troubles, he always provided,
he always cared enough about us to get up and go to work, at least when he absolutely had to, and keep his nose clean, at least when he absolutely had to, and bring home a paycheck for us to live on. Look at me, Jamie, look at me: have I ever asked for anything luxurious? Do I own anything expensive or glamorous? Every toy we own is for your father or for you—and I’m not saying anything bad about a single thing you own, don’t think that—all I’m saying is I never once complained, because all I ever asked from your father is that he do one thing to show me he cared about me, and I always thought it was work. Whenever he had no more wiggle room, because of warnings or playing hooky or because he was fighting with someone in the department until you could feel the tension coming off of him, he still went to work, and I always thanked the lord for that, because I thought your father was doing it for me. I thought it was a gift from both of them, I really did, and it felt good. But now your father’s not going to work any more, and the truth is I’m not sure where that leaves me. I don’t know if there’s anything he does because he cares about me. Maybe not a single thing. And maybe it’s been that way for a long, long time.”
Joan stared down at her plate, but no more tears rolled. With eyebrows raised, she looked to Jamie and smiled. Jamie returned the smile, then rose and stepped to her mother’s side, laying a hand on her shoulder.
“Everything will be all right,” Jamie said. “You’ll see. Everything will be fine.”
“I hope so,” Joan said. “Come on, sit down. Let’s eat.”
Chapter 39
The new boat arrived Tuesday, already registered, the gas tank full, a shiny blue fiberglass treasure begging Claude to float it over a rustic lake surrounded by October-colored trees and footpaths. The cabin in Maine, Claude decided, offered the perfect setting, and although he couldn’t reach Armand Fecteau, he didn’t think Armand would mind a one-night visitor, so he packed his fishing gear and a bolt cutter, bought a ten-dollar lock from a hardware store, and before the next sunrise pointed the truck north for a two-day inauguration of his life of leisure.
With the help of a cashier from the lake’s general store, Claude loaded his boat with gear and launched it from the nearby public landing. A stumble over a large rock submerged him to his chest before he caught his balance, so prudence and comfort dictated he park the truck quickly and motor straight to Armand’s to change clothes before making his first cast. Since the dock had been removed for the winter, Claude slipped out of the boat in knee deep water to tie up at a metal rod jutting out from the cement wall, and once done, transferred his sleeping gear and extra clothing to dry land. With the bolt cutters he snipped the lock to the storage area beneath the porch—no sense breaking into the cabin itself, since the water had been turned off weeks earlier—spread his sleeping bag on the concrete floor, and with the door slightly ajar for sunlight peeled off his rubber waders and wet clothes, laid them flat on the upside down hull of the rowboat, and put on dry garments. He wiped down the inside of the waders with a towel before putting them on again and pronounced himself ready to fish. He slid the new lock through the clasp, whistling a Neil Young tune as he snapped it shut.
The Jig of the Union Loller Page 30
