At times she could almost tolerate her life. It was so much like a soap opera. But then she would think, this isn’t happening on some television screen. I can’t turn it off and on at will. I live it.
All these thoughts drove her out of the house, even though she wasn’t anxious to get to school. When she turned away from the door to cross the patio, she dropped her math book. She was almost willing to leave it there. What difference did it make? She wasn’t going to pass that course anyway. That was why her father talked about getting her tutored. Sandy heard Paula tell him that if she just did her work the way she was supposed to, she wouldn’t need a tutor. No fooling. What a brilliant observation.
She picked up the book and started down the sidewalk. Her new designer jeans squeaked. She should have gotten the prewashed ones, she thought. At five feet seven, with her small waist, long legs, and rather well-developed bust, she presented a striking figure. In the summertime when she wore those short shorts and the cutaway shirts, she stopped traffic. How that galled her aunt Myra. She smiled thinking about it.
“Hey, Sandy,” she heard and first noticed Johnny Masterson leaning out of the passenger-side window of Gary Rosen’s car. “Can we talk to you?” She walked over to them.
“What are you doing here?” She looked in the back and saw Sheila Cohen. Gary was sitting back against his door, holding a cigarette between his lips. Instead of looking like the usual blob, he looked cool, confident. In fact there was something different and peculiar about all of them, she thought. She was interested.
“We were waiting for you,” Johnny said. He smiled warmly.
“Hi, Sandy,” Sheila said.
Sandy opened her pocketbook and started to pull out a cigarette, but Johnny produced one from his top shirt pocket much quicker.
“Thanks. So? What’s up?”
“We wanted to talk to you about Mr. Lucy,” Johnny said.
“Who the hell is Mr. Lucy?” She lit her cigarette and blew the smoke straight up.
“How about we give you a lift to school and tell you more about him?” Johnny said. Sandy looked down the sidewalk as though there were another ride waiting for her. For a moment Johnny thought so too. “I mean, if you’re not busy.”
“I’m not busy, but who the hell is this guy and what’s he got to do with me?”
“He’s the man your father spoke to about tutoring you.”
“Oh. Forget that,” she said, and started to walk away.
“No, wait.” Johnny got out of the car and ran up to her. She was surprised at his aggressiveness. “You’ve got the wrong idea about this guy. We’re all being tutored by him,” he said, gesturing back at the car. She saw Sheila leaning forward intently. Gary had straightened up his seat and was now facing forward.
“Big deal. Look, I’m going down to George’s for a cup of coffee. I don’t even think I’m going to school today. I’m not in the mood.”
“That’s a mistake,” Johnny said. She half expected he was being sarcastic, but when she looked directly at him, she sensed his sincerity. He saw the puzzled look on her face. “I mean, you’re getting back at them, but you’re only making it harder on yourself, believe me.”
“What are you studying to be, a guidance counselor?” She laughed at her own joke. Then she turned serious for a moment. “Somebody did tell me you were doing great in school. He sounded jealous. I know. It was Richard Slattery. He thought you cheated on your English test.”
“I didn’t cheat. I knew that stuff cold. He thinks he’s the only one who can understand subordinate clauses, or anything for that matter. I remember how he used to flash his papers in front of me. He’s not doing that anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because of the tutor.”
“The tutor?”
“Mr. Lucy.”
“Oh yeah, Mr. Lucy.”
“And it’s not just my schoolwork that’s improved either,” he said enthusiastically. He took a step closer to her, a new, knowing look on his face. She felt a tingle of excitement. It made her consider him more seriously. She had admired Johnny Masterson’s looks from time to time, but she had classified him as being a zero. What was all this personality, this come-on all of a sudden?
She looked back at the car. Gary and Sheila were staring at her so hard she thought they were fixated.
“What are you, on drugs or something?”
“No, Sandy. Gary’s even cut back on joints. Hey,” he said, nodding his head confidently, “we’re into ourselves and it’s paying off…in more ways than you can imagine.”
She stared at him a moment. There was something in his eyes, some kind of sureness that she envied. It was as though he did find some answers and some contentment. That, more than anything, held her interest.
“What do you want from me?”
“Just want to help you help yourself, that’s all. All of us,” he said, gesturing back at the car, “feel the same way.” She tilted her head, still obviously puzzled and skeptical. “We heard you didn’t want to work with Mr. Lucy and we talked about it and decided we’d try to get you to change your mind. None of us wanted to work with him in the beginning, but we’re all glad we did.” He stepped closer to her. “You see the change in Sheila Cohen,” he said, lowering his voice. “She’s lost nearly ten pounds and her grades have improved almost as much as mine.”
“This Mr. Lucy must be some guy,” Sandy said. She was a little threatened by his intensity now and hoped that her sarcasm would drive him back, but he remained serious and determined.
“He is. He’s more than a tutor of school subjects; he’s a tutor of life. You’ll see, if you give him a chance.”
“What are you, getting a cut or something?”
Johnny blanched.
“No way.”
She looked down the sidewalk behind her and then back at the car. The three of them seemed so dependent upon her cooperation. They really wanted her and that flattered her.
“Oh hell, what’s the difference,” she said, stepping toward the car.
“Great. Besides,” he said, “it would have been a helluva waste for someone to come out of the house looking as great as you do and not be seen at school.”
She smiled, just as he knew she would. It was easy to say things like that when you meant it, as he did now, but the power came from being able to say them no matter what. The important thing was to sound and look sincere. What was the secret Mr. Lucy gave him about this: “If you’re having trouble being nice to someone, pretend that it’s someone you want to be nice to and you’ll be able to do it.”
Sheila Cohen moved over quickly in the backseat, anxious for Sandy to get in beside her. She had always hoped she would have Sandy for a friend. Just being seen with her was important.
“Your hair looks great, Sandy,” she said.
“Thanks.” She looked at her for a moment. “There is something very different about you.”
“Nine and a half pounds, to be exact. And I’m letting my hair grow, see.” Sheila pulled on the strands to emphasize the new length. Sandy nodded with appreciation. She was impressed.
“You do Downing’s homework?” Gary asked her as he started the car. He looked back at her through the rearview mirror.
“Get serious. I haven’t done homework in that class for weeks.”
“It was easy. I’ll let you copy it in homeroom, but I’ll show you how to do it, too, just in case he asks you questions about it.”
“He probably will,” Johnny said, “expecting that you copied it. But when you answer the questions, he’ll swallow his accusations and you’ll feel great. You’ll see.”
“He’s right,” Sheila said.
Sandy looked from one to the other quickly. Then she leaned toward Gary.
“You did all of it?”
“Sure. I’m getting an A this quarter and when I do, my mother’s buying me a 300 ZX.”
“Oh,” Sandy said, sitting back. She was comfortable with that reason. “That explains it.�
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“But that’s not my most important reason,” Gary added quickly. “I can live without a sports car.”
“Is that so? And what’s your most important reason?” Sandy asked, smiling at Johnny, who had turned back to her as they pulled away from the curve.
“It’s what Mr. Lucy says I should get,” Gary replied. He said it so nonchalantly it was as though he expected her to know it.
“What?” Sandy smiled in puzzlement at Johnny.
“You’ll understand what Gary means after you’ve met and worked with Mr. Lucy,” Johnny said.
She looked at Sheila, who was nodding emphatically in agreement. Then she looked at Gary, who slowed down to get under the speed limit as they turned off her road and onto Main Street.
What the hell were they on? she wondered. Whatever it was, she wanted some of it. They seemed so damn happy and so damn pleased with themselves. She couldn’t remember when she felt that way last.
“I guess I’ll really have to meet this guy,” she said, this time very sincerely.
Johnny’s smile widened. She was interested and that was all he had to accomplish. He felt good. Mr. Lucy would be proud of him.
It was that special quiet time again for Johnny Masterson. All the others were gone; he had had his lessons, and he and Mr. Lucy were alone. Mr. Lucy sat very still in the big, gray cushioned easy chair with the thick, hand-carved legs and arms. Despite its size and softness, the chair in no way diminished Mr. Lucy.
In fact, tonight, with the living room lights dim and shadows everywhere about them, Mr. Lucy seemed larger than life. When he spoke, his words were deceptively soft, for there was nothing weak about him, as far as Johnny was concerned. But the pauses between Mr. Lucy’s sentences were filled with so deep a silence, it seemed as though the very house itself were listening, absorbing. Nothing dared creak, not a shutter, not a floorboard, not a wall.
Mr. Lucy had told him that he thought there was something special about this house.
“It looks out of place here,” Johnny had said, “because it’s surrounded by all these modern homes.”
“That’s exactly it, Johnny. That’s why it’s so special. It’s what brought me right to it. It is out of place, but in a nice way. This house has personality, style, soul.”
Johnny tried to look at the house the way Mr. Lucy looked at it. He did sense something.
“It’s warmer,” he said.
“Yes. Because it’s alive.”
“Alive?”
“When something is built with feeling, when people really care about what they’re doing with their talent and energy, they put something of themselves into their products. It’s the same with children, Johnny.”
“You mean…the way their parents treat them?”
“That’s it. Right from the start the question is, did they want them? Did they want them with all their hearts? Are the children a burden or a joy?”
Johnny nodded. He did understand, especially when he thought about the way his parents treated him and the way Gary’s parents, Sheila’s parents, and now Sandy’s parents, treated them. It all seemed to be so clear when Mr. Lucy explained it.
He looked around the house again and wished that he was part of it, or at least, part of something substantial. He didn’t have any real feeling for his own house. He remembered carving things into the walls in his room when he was about six or seven years old. He didn’t care about the mess or the permanent damage he was creating.
“I guess all of us are a burden,” he said. “I think Sandy even called herself that.”
“Quite understandably. You’ve done well with her, Johnny. You’ve helped her to get a new start.”
Johnny smiled. From the moment he had come this evening, he had sensed how pleased Mr. Lucy was with him and his accomplishments. Sandy Dickens had been there only twice, but she was already quite taken with Mr. Lucy and thanked him for talking her into going. He felt confident that now there were four in what he had come to think of as Mr. Lucy’s inner circle.
“She’s happier already.”
“Oh, she is.”
“And so are Gary and Sheila. Sheila’s getting to look better and better every day.”
“I know.”
Mr. Lucy’s eyes seemed to grow darker and deeper. To Johnny they looked like two tiny endless tunnels that went down into another world, into another dimension. He couldn’t turn away. Mr. Lucy folded his hands across his chest and sat back. The move relaxed them both.
“Gary has a very poor relationship with his father, doesn’t he?” Mr. Lucy asked.
“Yeah. He almost hates him, I’d say. His father always wanted him to work in the lumberyard, to learn the business, but Gary hates it there. He told me he’s never going to work there, no matter what.”
“Pretty rich people.”
“Richest in town, probably. Gary still gets almost anything he wants.”
“There was this ring he was telling me about. Did he mention it to you?”
“His grandmother’s ring. Yeah, he was telling me about it.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Well, he said he was thinking of getting it to give to you. For our account.”
“And?”
“I told him it was a good idea, but he had to be careful because jewelry like that might be missed. But he said his father would never know it was gone anyway. No one wears it; no one even looks at it.”
“Good. What about Sheila?”
“She told me about this necklace her mother has, one she hardly wears because it’s so valuable.”
“Sounds good.”
“Her father gave it to her when they were in love, she said.” He smirked.
“You sound like you don’t believe in such things.”
“Not much.”
“Sandy has that problem, too. It’s important to believe in something you can’t touch, something you can only think about or feel in your heart. Like a friendship or a loyalty…”
“You mean, something like us, like what the five of us have now?”
“Yes. And what we can be…all of us, all of you.”
“It’s already happening,” Johnny said with enthusiasm. “I can sense it. Others can sense it, too, I know.”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Lucy leaned forward slightly, his face emerging out of the shadows. There was a yellowish glow over him that made him look like he was made of wax. For a moment Johnny was intimidated by the image. “When you say, others, what do you mean?”
“They’re jealous.”
“You’ve got to be careful.”
“I don’t brag about anything, if that’s what you mean. I remember what you said about power.”
“About the mystery?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Mr. Lucy sat back. There was a long pause and then he sat forward again, but he seemed changed this time. His eyes weren’t as deep and as dark and the glow that was on his face looked lighter, warmer. It was as though there were two of him and he could move in and out of each at will. Johnny liked them both, even though the other was a little frightening. He was intrigued and thrilled by him. This version of Mr. Lucy was more like a big brother or father.
“Now tell me about your sister. You were complaining about her before.”
“When my mother told her about my good marks, she laughed like it was some kind of freak accident.”
“That’s sad. It’s sad when a brother and a sister are at such odds with each other. Was it always like this between the two of you?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you think that’s so?”
“It’s the way my father brought her up. In his eyes, she can do no wrong,” Johnny said bitterly. The anger in his face was like a small fire fed by the understanding in Mr. Lucy’s face. Johnny felt comfortable exposing his truer feelings. Images of revenge and jealousy were not restrained as they usually were. He didn’t have the same sense of guilt for thinking and conjuring them up.
&n
bsp; “You’ve got to change that. Most of the problems with young people today come from the fact that parents can’t be objective about their own children.”
“What do I do?”
“Get him to see she’s human, vulnerable. Get him to understand she’s not special, or at least, not any better than you are. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” he said. It was practically a whisper. In fact, he couldn’t remember any of them speaking very loud in this house. It must have something to do with the place itself, he thought, and with what Mr. Lucy was talking about when he said the house had character and has soul. It would be almost sinful to be loud and wild in here.
“It would only be right, Mr. Lucy.” He looked as though he had just convinced himself as well.
“But…but what do I do? I mean, how…”
“You need an opportunity, something to develop.” He sat back again. “Tell me more about your sister. Talk about her. Say anything that comes to your mind, no matter how insignificant you might think it is. And from that, maybe we’ll find a way. Go ahead.”
“Well,” Johnny began, “she’s spoiled. As far back as I can remember, she’d go running to him if I ever did the slightest thing to bother her. My parents always took her side in any argument,” he added. His anger was raw now. Unsheathed like a sword, it cut through any inhibitions to expose his bitterness. Mr. Lucy looked very pleased.
“That’s so wrong. It’s so wrong when parents pit one child against another. It’s so obvious a mistake you’d think anyone could see it. But something’s blinded them, or at least blinded your father.”
“Both of them,” Johnny said. “My mother goes along with whatever he says.”
“I’m sorry to hear this. But what are they blinded to, exactly?”
“She has bad habits, too, habits they don’t see or don’t want to see.”
“For example?”
“Well…” He looked about frantically as though things were laid out for him on the floor. “Lately, she’s been getting more and more interested in sex. All the brats in her crowd are.”
“How do you know?”
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