We hesitated, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Then Dale broke that perfect surface with the tip of his spoon, scooping a long trench as the peanut butter curled up onto the spoon. Soon our utensils dug furiously into the jar and before long we leaned back against the rock, our bellies full, our mouths and throats clogged, the jar half empty. It wasn’t long before we raced back down the hill in search of a beverage to scrape the coating from the roofs of our mouths.
Many times we would steal away a jar of peanut butter from either of our houses, our mothers never suspecting why they had to replenish the supply so frequently.
A soft tapping of my door returned me to the present and I stared at the source of intrusion for a moment, (Don’t open it. Don’t.) anticipating who it might be. I wanted it to be Woody. I wanted to see he was all right.
“Come in,” I finally said, and the door creaked open slowly revealing the grownup version of my peanut-butter partner.
“I heard some typing earlier, so I didn’t want to intrude,” he said.
I strode across the room and wrapped my arms around Dale, holding him tight, not wanting to let go. It was so good to see him. It had been so long.
When I released him, he was grinning. “The Big Apple hasn’t made you feminine has it?”
“I guess kissing you would be out of the question right now, huh?” We laughed. I looked into his face, at the lines and creases around his eyes and mouth. He was aging, and I hadn’t expected it. He had been the best looking one of us, handsome, even pretty, if guys could be pretty. Now he was no longer the young kid eating peanut butter. Was this what was happening to me? To all of us? “How the hell are you?”
“Doing okay,” he answered, nodding. “Things are pretty routine. You know how married life is.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, it’s nothing to brag about.”
“How is the wife?” I sat down on the end of my bed.
“She’s um … well … She’s good. She’s good.”
“Now I’m supposed to ask you about your job, isn’t that how the routine goes?”
“God, it’s been so long. You look terrific.”
How deceiving looks can be, I thought. “I’ve really missed you.”
He paused for a moment, and I wondered if maybe I was being a bit too maudlin. He meandered over near the desk, and I felt an urge to rush past him, to snatch the papers away. I didn’t want him to see what I was writing about. I wasn’t sure why.
“We’ve really been strangers,” he finally said.
“That’s what we get for growing up. We have to go our separate ways and lead mature, adult lives.”
“Well, we can forget all about that this weekend. We’re the Jokers Club once again.”
“Maybe that isn’t such a great idea.”
His expression soured. “We had some great times for a while there. That’s what we’re here to celebrate.”
My mind wandered back to the days of the club, to the simple, fun times. I remembered summer nights, running through the warm crisp air, the whole quiet town our playground, nothing to fear. The night was ours to do as we pleased.
“You’re right.”
He looked down at the typewriter. “Where’d you dig up this relic?”
“Don’t ask.”
“I didn’t know you were still writing. What are you working on?”
I jumped up and gathered the papers. “No fair peeking,” I said, trying to make light of it. “It’s nothing, really. Just fooling around.”
He stepped over to the window and looked out. “Great view you got. Mine looks out the back. Have you seen anyone else?”
“No,” I answered. “I was really anxious to see Woody, see how he’s doing.”
Dale didn’t answer.
“Let’s go downstairs,” I finally said. “See if anyone’s around.”
When we walked through the door that led to the den, we saw Lonny Mudge. He stood in front of the fireplace of the paneled room, beneath another deer head that hung over the mantle. He was dressed in a nice suit and tie, but his clothes looked rumpled, as if he had slept in them. Though his tie was knotted up firmly beneath his collar, it hung askew, revealing his shirt buttons. One was either missing or unbuttoned, exposing a small spot of hairy flesh. He face was unshaven and his hair, much shorter than his younger days, looked … funny.
Beside him was a portable bar filled with all kinds of liquor bottles, mixers and an ice bucket. He held a drink in one hand and used the back of the other to wipe drops of liquid from the bottom of his thick mustache.
“Hey guys, look at this,” he waved at the drinks, a grin on his face. “All this booze has been set out for us. And it’s free.”
“It’s nice to see you too, Lonny,” Dale said, extending his hand as he approached.
“It’s great seeing you guys too,” Lonny said, pumping our hands.
If I thought it had been quite a while since I’d seen Dale, it had been longer since I’d last seen Lonny. Even though Dale and I remained close in high school, neither of us hung out much with Lonny, Oliver or the others. Lonny had gone to college in Maine, but dropped out when he got his girlfriend pregnant. They had gotten married and I was surprised I got an invitation. I think that had been the last time I saw him. I had heard he had three or four kids now and was selling life insurance.”
“How’s the insurance world?” I asked him.
“History. I sell cars now. Didn’t happen to notice my vehicle out front?”
“No.”
“Well this setup looks pretty nice,” Dale said, admiring the selection at the bar like a kid trying to decide what he wants at a candy counter. He hesitated and then fixed himself a drink.
That was what I needed, what I really wanted at this point. Once in hand, I plopped myself down in a big stuffed chair. The drink felt good going down. There was a moment of silence, as if no one knew what to say.
Lonny finally broke the stalemate. “What a great idea this was, to get together like this.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just great.”
“So how’s things going?” Dale asked Lonny.
“Great. Top of the world. Everything’s clicking.” He paced around as he spoke, his arms and hands jittering, but he didn’t spill a drop of his drink. He moved near the windows that looked out onto the front porch. “You know, if you look out just right you can see my car.”
“Later,” Dale said.
“Yeah, sure.” He moved from the window.
“Seen Woody or anyone else?”
“You guys are the first I’ve seen,” Lonny said, moving to the bar and fixing another drink.
“I hope Woody shows up,” I said, then got up and fixed a new drink for me and one for Dale also. I handed Dale his icy glass, and as his left hand reached for it I noticed his wedding band was gone. I hesitated as he grasped the drink, almost not letting go, till his eyes met mine and I released it, feeling the cold beverage slide through my fingers. I looked away.
“How are things in Maine?” Dale asked Lonny.
“Great. Booming. The whole state’s booming. I’m selling cars left and right. I’m so damn busy, I’m up to my ass in alligators. You guys need new cars? I could fix you up with some beauties. You’ll look like big shots.”
“Maybe we already are big shots.”
“Yeah, of course. You guys must be doing great. What do you drive?”
“I’m in the middle of New York City, Lonny. Nothing but cabs and subways for me.”
“That must suck.”
“You get used to it.”
Lonny fixed himself another drink. “So, how’s your job down in Virginia?” he asked Dale.
Dale chuckled. “Well, actually, I’m between jobs right now, mulling over my next move.”
“Hmmn,” Lonny said, nodding, as if he understood. Damned if I knew what he meant.
I was about to say something when I felt a presence nearby and turned to the doorway. There
stood a small man with a deeply receding hairline exposing a shiny scalp surrounded by wispy graying hairs. He wore circular, wire-rimmed glasses. It took me a moment to realize it was Martin Peak, but he reminded me of someone else, someone older. He stood there silent. His eyes were the only part of him that moved, shifting from one of us to the other.
“Martin,” I said, and didn’t know what else to say.
“You came,” he replied. I wasn’t sure whether it was directed to all of us, or someone in particular. He stepped into the room, hesitantly. “I wasn’t sure any of you would really come.”
“Wouldn’t miss this for anything,” Dale said with sarcasm.
Handshakes were exchanged. Martin’s was effortless.
More drinks were made. Martin only had soda water. Talk ensued, mostly about what everyone had been doing and, as it turned out, we found we did not lead the most exciting lives. I had a feeling this night was not going to get much better, that it was a mistake trying to recapture something that was so long ago. It was opening a door to the past that was probably best left closed.
When Oliver Rench strode into the room, his aura took hold of the place. The handshaking began again. When he got to me, his grip was firm. “Thorn, haven’t seen your name on the best-sellers list yet.”
“No, but it’s nice you’re keeping an eye out.” In that one line that he spoke ever-so-smugly, I was reminded of how unpleasant this man truly was and wondered how I ever could have considered him a friend. He was certainly the person I least wanted to see here today, if at all.
“Let me fix you a drink,” Lonny said and bounded off to the portable bar.
“Nice place I picked out,” Oliver said, scanning the surroundings. “They did a good job fixing this old dump up.”
Lonny came back with a drink for Oliver and a fresh one for himself.
“It’s amazing that anything in this town could change,” he continued.
“Not everybody cares for change,” Martin said, a surprising edge to his voice.
Oliver grinned. “That’s right. You’re the only one who stayed behind. You seem to be content here. I’m sure you’ll die in Malton, but not me. I made sure I got out. I’ve got more ambitious plans for my life. I was glad to leave this place behind.”
I noticed we had all formed a sort of circle around Oliver as he talked about how wonderful things were in Boston and in the world of commercial real estate. It felt as if he had completely taken over.
I broke from the pack and made myself another round, then hung back against the fringe to observe. There was a lightness in my head. As I looked at the others, I felt I didn’t belong here. Maybe I shouldn’t have come, but there were some things I wanted to accomplish. I needed to accomplish.
Lonny began asking Oliver about the kind of car he drove and, as expected, it was quite impressive. Without breaking stride, Lonny continued on about his own car.
“I saw it,” Oliver said. Lonny beamed. “It had dealer plates.”
Lonny shrugged. “So?”
“So, you don’t actually own the car. You just get to use it, to display it.”
“Well, yeah, but, that …” His drink came to his lips and the rest of his worlds were muddled in the slurps.
Dale gave me a smirk and walked to my side.
“You okay?”
I nodded. “Just seems weird. Us being all together again.”
“Not quite all.”
Yes, there was a noticeable absence.
“Any word on Woody?” I asked.
“Hasn’t checked in,” Oliver said, gulping his drink.
“They won’t give his room away, will they?” Lonny asked.
“There can’t be much demand this time of year,” Dale responded.
“Mostly leaf peepers,” Oliver said, “coming to see the foliage. But I paid for his room just in case.”
“Well, that was good of you,” Lonny muttered.
“Just a drop in the bucket, Mudge.”
I hoped Woody was just delayed. One of the things I wanted most out of this trip was to see how he was doing.
“He’s not the only one not here,” I said.
Silence filled the room. Nobody made eye contact. Then Lonny broke the silence.
“Hey, come on guys,” he said between sips. “We’re here to remember the good times of the Jokers Club. Not the bad.”
“He’s right,” Dale said.
Oliver smiled. “That’s why we’re here.”
“Now, aren’t we supposed to get something to eat?”
* * *
It was during dinner at the Loon Tavern downtown that I realized how far removed the Jokers Club was from our adult lives. The talk at the table centered around jobs and each of our lives. Oliver was extremely successful in real estate and pulling in all kinds of money. Lonny babbled on and on about selling cars. Wives were mentioned briefly. Lonny, the only one with kids, rambled on about how wonderful they were.
But the more I listened to everybody, the more I began to think this wasn’t really the Jokers Club. The Jokers Club was a group of kids who laughed and played and could take the world in their hands, spin it like a top and hop on. Not that I expected us to act like we were twelve again, but I at least hoped we would be able to respond and interact with each other with that bond of friendship that burned inside us so brightly as children. Those were magic times for me. But maybe, like an old magician, we’d lost our spells with time. Maybe Jason Nightingale ruined that for us all.
On the way back to the Tower House Inn, I knew what was really important to me. This trip had become a quest of many things, but I had resolved myself to accomplish one task. The past held the secret for me. I had felt it all day today, and I felt it in seeing my old friends. The Jokers Club was the key.
I wanted to get my book written. I wanted to recapture the imagination that I left behind when I left this town. It was definitely here. I could feel it in everything I saw. It was buried beneath layers of the past, but not too deep that I couldn’t unearth it.
The Jokers Club would be the focal point. It would have to be. There were tales and dreams that we lived. I could almost taste the moments, savor them. Sip them from a bottle and cork it to save some for later. There was a tale to tell. A tale that was not yet complete. Jason Nightingale would be a big part of it.
But I needed something more to weave my tapestry. I wasn’t sure quite what it was, but I knew I could find it buried in this place.
We gathered around a table in the closed dining room of the inn, grown-up versions of the kids who used to gather in the smaller confines of the clubhouse to play blackjack. Oliver produced a deck of cards, waving it around in the air for all our eyes to take in. He swore it was the same deck we used in our clubhouse games. I doubted it, though it was the same brand, and the cards looked worn and faded, seemingly soft to the touch. They did not snap as he shuffled, like a fresh pack would. I could not believe he held onto them all these years, even as possessive as he was. I was sure the original pack had been lost in the fire.
As he shuffled, I reached out and grabbed hold of the cardboard box, extracting, with the lightest touch of my fingertips, the jokers from within. I stared at a joker’s face. There was the muse of my youth who guided my imagination. That’s what was missing. That’s what I left behind when I moved to New York City: The attic room in my mind where the Joker lurked had gotten shut down, locked up. The Joker wasn’t around to feed my mind the horror he collected in that dark place. The city was full of real horror, overshadowing the fangs and claws my imagination tried to conjure. Maybe I would have to unlock that attic door. Maybe I needed him to help me weave this tale.
We played blackjack just like we had in the old days, though the pots now were a little more bountiful than before. Oliver won most of the money, just like he always did. We had moved the portable bar into the room and many of the bottles were nearly empty. Lonny kept the ice bucket replenished from the freezer in the kitchen. He was slamming down th
e liquor at a pretty rapid pace. Something was gnawing at him. He seemed agitated. Outside the tavern earlier in the evening he had some words with Oliver in private, and his mood had been sullen since.
The inn was very quiet. No sign of the professor or the girl I had briefly glimpsed or of Mr. Wolfe or Sandy the chambermaid. It was as if we had the whole place to ourselves -- as if we were in our own private world, just like it was when we were in the clubhouse, without any outside interference in our domain. Yet, it didn’t feel exactly like it did back then. I thought our conversations would revolve around the times we had as the Jokers Club, but the talk continued to be stuck in the present gear. There was no down-shifting, no backpedalling.
After Oliver dealt the cards and Dale reached with his left hand to gather his up, I noticed Oliver glance at Dale’s hand, and my gaze followed his to the white strip of skin on his ring finger.
“So how’s the wife?” Oliver asked, wearing a smirk.
Dale met my gaze over the top of his cards and I could tell he realized his hand was exposed. There was no way he could bluff.
“Well,” he said, lowering his eyes. “Actually, we’ve called it quits.”
“No?” Lonny said, sounding surprisingly concerned. Oliver had trouble maintaining his smirk.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “Truly.”
“It’s really for the best,” Dale answered. “For both of us. Things just weren’t going well.”
“Real tough luck,” Oliver said. “I thought for sure you two would make it.”
“So did I,” was all Dale could respond.
Jokers Club Page 5
