Little Did I Know

by Mitchell Maxwell

  After a while, Secunda came in without knocking. He wore a heavy expression and his energy was low. He stood for a long time, his arms resting across his chest, staring intently at me. It was uncomfortable, and he made no effort to soften the mood. At last he pulled up the only chair in the room and sat very close to the side of my bed.

  “You’re okay, that’s good. This was reckless. I’ve known you a long time and seen you do some crazy things. You never should have been so careless. Put yourself in danger, all of this in danger. My brother has already heard it from me. I asked him to find out where that pot came from. Then we’re going to deal with it and it will all be over. Over.”

  He looked tired and sad. His shoulders sagged, his strength was drained. He looked old and lacked his usual aura of force and menace. “I don’t care what happens next as long as it is what you want and you are safe. We close tomorrow and send everyone home. No sweat. We lose some money, but not our way. You matter more than this dream.”

  I bristled. “You know, if you throw an interception on the first set of downs, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t play the game.”

  “I’m playing. But not to lose. If you put us in a position to lose, then I think we should all go home.” He leaned over me and kissed my forehead like a father putting a young son to bed. He walked out of the room without further comment.

  I lay there searching my soul. This was my gig. And I needed to hold myself to a higher standard. When Sidney called me a moron a few weeks ago, he was right. No chasing windmills or fighting battles that even if won were not worth the pain or the bloodshed. Drink in moderation, chase the girls, and maintain perspective. Tonight could have been a tragedy. Instead, it was a wakeup call.

  The door to my room opened slightly and without sound. No one appeared, and I thought perhaps it was the wind. After a moment, Veronica entered without a word. She looked wan and tense with an air of vulnerability. She greeted me with a nod and whispered a barely audible, “Hi.” Then she sat in the chair next to the bed with her hands folded in her lap. Her eyes met my gaze but there was nothing to say.

  Less than an hour ago I thought I was done. Veronica had waited for Neptune’s verdict while helpless and wounded on shore. Whatever had happened with us these past electric days was over, yet now as we sat there inches apart, it was being given a second chance.

  I sat up and reached for her, and she was in my arms in less than a heartbeat. Our mouths met and we kissed as if it were the last time we would ever see one another. I stripped off her clothes amid a cacophony of verbal intimacies. There was anger and release in our actions; no softness or foreplay, just a ravishing of one another with the hope that the fear and remorse and regret of the night might be vanquished. She was as perfect as I had imagined. Her skin was like satin, her body warm and open and available. We consummated our love-making with an explosiveness I had never imagined. I actually felt fireworks. I caught my breath and thought that almost dying was not such a bad thing if it led to something this good.

  We lay naked and spent in each other’s arms for a long time. Then Veronica spoke.

  “You know, Sam, I’ve lived through nights like tonight too many times. It’s one of the reasons I decided long ago to leave Plymouth. Drunk driving, stupid violence, reckless drugs, petty squabbles about forgotten issues that put people in jail or into the ground. I drink, I smoke weed, and I’ve spent time with boys or foolish men who don’t know why they’re looking to fight, other than that it’s in their blood.

  “None of it is any good. It’s like betting your life, and if you win you get a free beer. Big fuckin’ deal. My brother didn’t do anything wrong, no different from the kind of mistake you made tonight, and he is in prison. You never know what consequences will come from what seems to be an innocent circumstance. I miss Eddie. Until just now, I was already mourning you.”

  I said nothing. It was one of those times when a man should simply listen and not try to resolve anything.

  “When you arrived in Plymouth, I sensed you were different and I wanted to know you. I thought you were the kind of guy I was leaving Plymouth to meet. So I put aside my fears and worked hard to insinuate myself into your life. Even short term. Even for just the summer. I see the way you go about things, the way you take over a room, and the way your friends listen to every word you say. It’s inspiring to me and I want you more and more. To be with you. To have that aura transferred to me so I can have some ownership of it once the summer’s gone and you move on to the next task, the next dream, the next windmill.”

  Veronica’s speech had become halting, as if emotion had overtaken her thoughts. Her eyes filled with tears, and they slowly found their way down her cheeks. I lay there waiting to hear what came next.

  “You said I was somebody. Not just anybody. And I believed you. For two reasons. One, it’s true. More important, you’re the only man I ever met who was smart enough to see it.”

  She wiped her nose, gathered her remaining thoughts, then presented them clearly, without tears or hesitation, as if they were fact.

  “I want to be here with you this summer. I want to work at your side and I want to make love to you and keep you safe and champion everything you do. I want to remember this summer as the time I came of age with a real man as my partner, and I want it all to be fun. Tonight, I was scared, and, no, I am not asking for assurances. But if there is danger, I don’t want foolishness to open the door for its arrival. You’re too smart and too terrific to give that up because you allow the stupid boy in you to detour the great man you’ll become.”

  She didn’t look any less tired or wrung out, but she sure did look great. “Your rehearsals start the day after tomorrow. It’s a jump off a hundred-foot cliff and we all can’t wait to brace ourselves as we hit the water. I just want to be there and want you to be pleased that I feel that way.”

  She got up, dressed, and just as Secunda had, kissed me on my forehead, long and sweetly, like a mother putting her kid to bed. She turned and opened the door. The bracing wind whooshed into the room with the rain close behind in a subtle mist.

  “You know where Doobie got that pot he gave James for you and your friends to smoke?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Gary Golden.”

  “How did you know?”

  “It’s all very theatrical. By the way, there’s nothing you’ve done since I met you that hasn’t pleased me.”

  “I’m easy on the eyes.”

  Then she turned out the light and closed the door behind her. The sound of her footsteps diminished as she walked away, across the newly laid gravel. With each step I heard her moving closer to me rather than farther away.

  44

  The entire PBT company had arrived by Sunday noon. Tomorrow, May 31, would be Memorial Day. Rehearsals would begin on Tuesday at 10 a.m., and our first show would open on June 21, just three weeks away.

  To commemorate our first day together, Secunda had invited everyone to a clambake on the beach that evening at seven-thirty. Since the first day of work wasn’t until Tuesday morning, no one was concerned about staying out or partying late. Secunda’s clambake was out of a beach blanket movie. A show tune from Carousel was apropos as well: “It Was a Real Nice Clambake.” Indeed it was, and more.

  Secunda had arranged for fresh crustaceans of every size and shape. Skewers carrying shrimp, lobster, clams, scallops, and fresh corn hovered over a bonfire the size and scope of the Hindenburg in full demise. Huge vats of guacamole and various dips were available. Iced coolers housed bottles of beer from numerous breweries, and we had wine from high-end California vineyards. He provided Caribbean music by finding a group who played steel drums with an island beat while tushies swayed, and strangers danced close and got quickly acquainted.

  Actors being actors, there was a great deal of sleuthing as each performer eyed who might threaten them for accolades or attention, or the heart of some boy or girl they h
ad already set their sights upon. People were animated and open, wide eyed and eager to be part of this initiation.

  I had never expected to have a girlfriend this summer, but as people arrived throughout the day, it seemed that Veronica and I were welcoming them together. She didn’t tell anyone we were a couple; she just presented herself as the company manager. Still, we held hands a lot and kissed frequently.

  I imagine that in life dozens of people rarely gather to perform a task in which everyone truly wants to be there. We were all on the Cape because it had been a dream, perhaps one vested long ago, or in some cases a new one not yet fully formed. I wanted this moment to be recorded in my memory for a long time. It was a pivotal event in my life. I knew that some of this would crumble and the perfect picture I saw tonight would fade. Nevertheless, if we accomplished nothing else over the next four months, I was bursting with pride for having gotten this far.

  I found Veronica in a crowd of joyous, animated strangers who would become our friends. I held her hand and enjoyed Secunda’s party. Tonight was a night to cherish. We would deal with tomorrow when it came.

  45

  Veronica and I decided to sleep late on Memorial Day and then head into Provincetown for an Italian feast. She got dressed in a cute sundress with a flower pattern that was short but modest on top, and piled her hair into a Sox cap. Her face was sans makeup but for a hint of lip gloss that made her very kissable. I had washed my jeans and complemented them with a new lime-green cotton, collarless shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

  Once we were ready, Veronica rushed me out into the compound. At least half the company had gathered around a shiny, new, powder-blue Chrysler van with a big red ribbon tied to the front grill. Some of the people from the company held a large sign that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOSS. Secunda stepped forward with an amazingly large grin.

  “My birthday is not for three weeks,” I said.

  “We know that, but with everything that’s in store for you, none of us are sure whether you’ll make it another three weeks. So here you are, you bastard. Enjoy. This is from me to you. JB wouldn’t let me put it in the budget.”

  Then he gave me the keys. I hugged him, and for once in my life had nothing to say. Not because I didn’t want to—I didn’t know how. I walked around the truck and saw that PRISCILLA BEACH THEATRE had been painted on each side. Everyone applauded and cheered.

  I grabbed Veronica’s hand and helped her climb into the passenger seat, then walked around to the other side and opened the door. I looked at Secunda and gave him a most sincere thank you. I got behind the wheel, started the engine, and drove out of the compound while honking the horn and waving like I was in a presidential parade.

  As we turned onto Rocky Hill Road I looked at Veronica and said, “Wow.”

  “You want to know the real surprise of the day?” she asked. “We‘re having dinner with my parents.”

  I thought of the old expression about mixed emotions. You know the one: mixed emotions are when you drive your new car off a cliff to avoid dinner with your girlfriend’s parents. I pulled the van onto the shoulder and put the car in park. I then put the emergency brake in place thinking it was a metaphor for the conversation I was about to embark on.

  “Why,” I asked, “did you make plans with your folks and not tell me? We’re just getting started. A week ago, I was just some boy passing through and now I’m a guest at Mom and Dad’s?”

  “You’re not just a boy passing through. I never thought such a thing. Now we’re together and I’m so proud of us, of me for trusting you. And look how happy we are. I can’t stop smiling, and it’s been a long time since my parents have seen me this way.”

  “It’s too soon, Veronica. It’s too much.”

  She looked sad and confused. Not upset or angry, more as if she had taken a wrong turn and was lost late on a dark, moonless road. “No it’s not,” she said quietly. “It’s part of our journey. We have less than a hundred days together and we have to live it all before the sand runs through the hourglass.”

  “When you’re our age, Veronica, a hundred days can be a lifetime. And who put a limit on us anyway?”

  “You. Your ambition, your focus, ferocity of purpose, your goals and need to prove yourself, never taking a breath. You’ll move on; you can’t help yourself. You’ll be opening the next door before you close the one behind you.”

  “And where is the trust in that?”

  “It’s real, I’m holding on. But I want us to live each day with an abundance of color, so when the sand is all gone it will take a long time for those colors to fade.”

  “And meeting Mom and Dad makes those colors bright? It’s just that simple?”

  “Nothing is simple, Sam. You know there are no absolutes.”

  She moved closer, laid her head in my lap and looked up at me with those eyes that made a sapphire sky seem gray.

  “You know what I’ve been thinking, doll?” I said. “That I want to meet your folks.”

  Veronica put her hand gently upon the back of my neck, sat up, and kissed me long and lingering. I thought, This would be a nice way to spend a hundred days or a lifetime, whichever turns out to be longer.

  I started up the van and drove back onto the highway. I wondered how much wine would be served with our meal. Then I looked over at Veronica and saw that she was indeed happy, almost as much as I was.

  She turned on the radio. “The Things We Do for Love” was in full lyric.

  46

  We stopped for wine, and I was faced with my first meeting-the-parents decision. Should I spend more than I could afford or buy something that filled a jug and was really manufactured to get a buzz on, fast and cheap. I choose the former, mostly because the label was attractive and the vineyard was in Napa. Once we arrived, I was glad I went for upscale.

  The Chapman home was small, tucked away in a cul-de-sac abutting an inlet off Plymouth Harbor. It was shaded by ancient pines, and the sunlight filtered through the trees like magic hour on a movie set. The home although small was pristine. Fresh paint, buffed floors, and a gallery of family pictures chronicling a good simple life. This afternoon it was filled with the breath of spring flowers and yummy scents finding their way in from the kitchen.

  Veronica’s parents were truly excited to meet me, and their warmth and easy energy made me feel special. Her oldest brother, Tommy Jr., was the perfect host, pouring me a huge glass of wine without waiting for my request.

  The backyard was no more than a slip that housed Tom Sr.’s boat. A small table that nestled in between the sea and the deck was covered with a few dozen beautifully prepared tea sandwiches and a cold summer soup that was the origin of those delicious culinary aromas; it complemented the Napa chardonnay that was disappearing all too quickly.

  Veronica introduced her mom as Julia, and if the adage that young girls become their mothers was true, then Veronica had many years of beauty ahead of her. Julia was an older version of her daughter, but in the right light they might have been sisters.

  We sat around the small table under the ancient pines; the inlet sea lapped sweetly against the docked fishing boat, and the air smelled of Christmas trees and a natural sea-scented cologne. It was rich man’s weather, and I thought of Barrows alone and unhappy in his magnificent soulless mansion. I was glad I had come, and not only because it made Veronica happy.

  We ate and talked about unimportant things. Yet their simplicity made them profound. Our eyes met and we listened to one another and connected. Mr. Chapman asked if I would like to see the boat, then took me on a quick tour. We stood atop the bridge and looked out at the blue water reflecting against a cloudless sky. The breeze off the inlet was brisk. It ruffled the vessel’s colors and made my shirt cling against my skin.

  Tom Chapman asked me to sit and pulled up a deck chair and sat close so we might speak to one another in private. As he gathered his thoughts, I real
ized I’d been invited to spend time with the family because Veronica’s dad had something to share.

  “This boat was my father’s,” he started. “I’ll give it to the boys when the time is right. Fishing is a good honest profession. Veronica’s other brother worked the boat with me and Tom, but he’s been away now for almost four years. Did Veronica tell you?”

  “Yes, sir, but only in passing, and I didn’t feel it my place to ask for more than she offered.”

  “When Eddie went away, Veronica cried every day for two years. Every day. I mean real tears; not just sadness, but grief. She dropped out and left us for a while. She didn’t leave town or run away; it was just that she became a shell of the girl she was growing up.”

  “I can’t imagine, sir, what kind of pain the loss of a son or a brother causes,” I responded, not truly knowing what to say to this man I had known for mere moments.

  “Eddie’s coming home,” he said. “He is not lost, just ‘missing in action.’ Did you fight in Nam?”

  “No, sir, I did not.”

  “College kept you home?”

  “That and a terrific lottery number.”

  “I fought in Korea, my dad in World War Two. We were both in the Navy, and Tommy Jr. spent two years in Asia and came home in one piece. You never know where danger finds you. Barrows. You watch out . . . you just be careful. Would you have fought if they called you up?”

  “I wasn’t forced to make that decision, sir. God was smiling on me, I guess, and he kept me safe.”

  “You believe in God, son?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s fine.”

  I could hear the happy voices of Veronica and her mother finding their way up to the bridge from the table below, giggles and laughter being swept away into an endless horizon. No clouds, an early crescent moon revealing itself in a sky of cobalt blue, time unrushed and of no consequence.