“I made it easy for you.” And sure enough, on the slip is written his name and number.
“Thanks.” I turn to leave.
“Dewey.” He grabs my arm. I stop. “What did you think of my answer to Mr. Waters’s question about the instrument?”
“Good answer, Charles.” Why’s he keeping me here? I try to leave again.
“I thought of it real quick because that’s… me. All the time.”
“Huh?”
“I sometimes feel, like a bass, I could just explode with sound. Most of the time, around Father, I’m just that quiet, sad humming sound. But sometimes, I just want to burst out with a big, booming ominous popping sound. You know, like the bass makes in a movie where the murderer is coming up behind his victim.”
This is kinda scary.
“Dewey, my father is a lot like Henry is with Richard.”
So that’s why he understands the character so much. And that’s why he feels like the bass. He’d like to strike out at his dad, but he feels powerless. How sad.
“Use it, Charles. Use it in the character.” I probably should say something more personal, but I barely know the guy. I’m not his shrink, I’m just a guy he’s in a play with.
“I will, Dewey, I will.” His tone has changed to eager. Like he’s begging me to be his friend.
“Well, I gotta go now, Charles. See you tomorrow.” And I hurry away.
At home, I think about it all. Charles is one wounded guy. If Mr. Waters had asked us to describe our characters as animals, I would say Charles and his Richard are that lion with the thorn in Androcles and the Lion.
The phone rings.
“How’s it hangin’, DewDew?”
I smile at LuLu’s voice.
“Long and hard for you, girl.” I can’t believe I’ve just said that. I’ve never said anything that suggestive in my entire life.
“Not for me, baby, not for me. For your boyfriend Jeep, maybe, but not for me. Alas.”
Quick right turn. Now. “What’s up, girl?”
“Nothin’, boy. Just needed to hear your voice.” Her voice is seductive.
“Stop it,” I demand, laughing.
“How’d rehearsal go?”
“Great. I think we’ve got a chance, and this is just the first day. The cast’s amazing.”
“And your boy Charles?”
“He’s not my boy. But I think he wants to be. He got to rehearsal early, and he hung out after, I’m pretty sure, just to talk to me.”
“He has the hots for you. You’re a guy magnet, DewDew.”
“Shit, LuLu. Cut it out. No, he just needs a friend. He says his dad is a real ballbuster. On his back all the time.”
“I know how he feels.” She pauses.
The silence across the lines is deafening.
I remember the doctor and his wife, and I realize she knows just how Charles feels. I start to say something, anything, to restart the conversation when she continues.
“Be nice to him, DewDew.”
“I will.”
“I know you will. You’re a nice guy, baby. You’ve always got my back.”
“Like you need that. You’re tough as nails, Lu. You don’t need anybody to fight your battles for you.”
“Well, it’s nice to know I’ve got someone who would pitch in if I needed him.”
“True, true,” I say, thinking about how much I love her. “How are things at Terrell?”
“Same old, same old. Just treading water until graduation, then Tinseltown, here I come.”
“Do you really think the doctor and his wife will let you go?”
“Just let them try and stop me.” I can picture the flint in her eyes, hear the resolve in her voice.
“I don’t think I’d pick a fight with you in a dark alley,” I joke. I hear a voice call her name in the distance.
“Gotta go. The wife is summoning me. See you Wednesday night for midweek rehearsal.”
“Yeah, see you then. Love you, girl.”
“I wish, I only wish, but my body is too soft and feminine.” She hangs up before I can protest.
But as I hang up the receiver, I giggle like a little girl. LuLu is a trip.
And speaking of trips, I don’t think I’d have the courage to just leave home and wander into unknown territory to make a new life like she’s planning.
Chapter 15
“DEWEY, YOU need to watch out for Charles.”
I look at Jimmy like he’s crazy. Where did that come from? I shake my head wearily. “Not now, Jimmy. I want to get ready for rehearsal. I don’t need any of your wisecracking.”
“I’m serious, Dewey. Charles has the hots for you. And unless you like that sort of thing, you need to be careful.” Strangest thing. That look on Jimmy’s face when he said that sort of thing. I can’t read him right now. Weird.
“Total bullshit, Jimmy. You’re talking out your ass. I don’t have to worry about anything. We’re just two actors trying to do our jobs.”
“Not true. I know for a fact Charles is….”
“You’re batshit crazy, Jimmy.” I continue pretending ignorance, hoping to shut him up.
“Dewey, listen to me. Charles is gay, g-a-y. Is that clear enough for you?”
“And just how do you know that?” I’m starting to get annoyed with Jimmy. I don’t need this. Not right when we’re about to start rehearsal.
“I just know. I have my sources. I have my ways,” Jimmy says, cryptically.
“So now you’re James Bond, shaken, not stirred?” You can’t go a day in this school without someone mentioning the famous super spy. Those movies are very popular.
“Let’s just say I hear things.”
“Shit, Jimmy. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Just know you were warned.” A smug smile.
Thank God Mr. Waters comes in and grabs Jimmy, pulls him to a corner, and conducts a top-secret director/stage manager conference. Well, it’s probably nothing top-secret, but I’m still in Bond world.
The rest of the cast straggles in. It’s the end of the day, and everyone always looks beat. That lasts about two minutes. When Mr. Waters calls us to attention, a tidal wave of energy floods in, and we are ready to work. And that’s what Mr. Waters does: works us until we are ready to drop. But it’s a good kind of fatigue.
And Lion in Winter is the perfect vehicle. For an actor, a good play, a good role, is exhausting and exhilarating. You walk away from a rehearsal totally spent but eager for that delicious punishment the next day. Blood, sweat, and tears—all the way.
As I gather my things to go home, Charles says, “Great rehearsal, huh?”
“Totally.”
“Call me tonight if you want to run lines.” I can’t read the look on his face, but Jimmy’s earlier statement colors my perceptions.
“I’ve got a ton of homework tonight. Besides, we’ll make more headway if we wait until we’ve got the lines memorized.”
Charles’s face seems to drop. The sparkle in his eyes fizzles. I want to clobber Jimmy. Charles needs a friend, but thanks to Jimmy, all I can think about is a nefarious plot to ensnare me into illicit sex. I start to speak, but Charles turns and walks out before anything more can come out of my mouth.
I head to the parking lot, my mind clouded with Charles thoughts, how I’ve just treated him. I resolve to be nicer to Charles. And I decide to have a long, punishing talk with Jimmy. No matter what or who Charles is, he deserves better than Jimmy spreading rumors. As I think about all this, my eyes start to focus on a hulking figure standing next to my car: Jeep.
“Hey, Dew! How’s it hangin’?”
My heart skips. I involuntarily chuckle, the laugh he can always bring to me. But with all Jimmy’s talk, I don’t need this right now.
“What ya need, Jeep?”
“A ride. Band rehearsal.”
He’s had two hours to hop a bus and get to his rehearsal. But no, he stands around, waiting for me.
“Why didn’t you take th
e bus? What makes you think I have time to cart you across town?” I hear the annoyance in my voice.
“Had detention. Hair, again. Guess I need you to trim it.” He grins like he’s just caught a giant fish. But I’m no grand-prize spotted bass, and he’s not fishing in Lake Worth. We’re in the school parking lot, and I’m not buying his story.
“Your hair’s not any longer than it was last week, Jeep.” I don’t want the disdain in my voice, but it’s there.
He looks caught. Deer in the headlights. “You got me. Mama’s been keeping it trimmed for me.” He grins again. “I just wanted to see you.” He adds quickly, “But I do need a ride to rehearsal.”
I shake my head. How can I be mad at the dolt? “Hop in. Dewey’s Taxi Service awaits. Fares always waived for budding rock stars.” Now I’ve done it. I’m sounding too friendly. But I’ve missed visiting with him. And with Jimmy and Charles and all, I need distraction.
We get in the car, and I pull out of the parking lot. Jeep talks a mile a minute, mostly about nothing. About stuff I already know. He can’t wait for graduation. Heard that a million times. The band’s doing great. To hear him, they’re one record short of going gold. His ma works too much. Tell me something new. The woman is trying to keep his enormous appetite fed. Principal’s always on his back. Old story. A giant music festival in New York. That’s news.
“What giant festival?” I ask.
“It’s just in the planning stages.”
“How do you know? Where’d you hear about this?”
“A buddy of mine. I met him at one of our gigs. He went to New York City to live. The guy’s richer than an Arab sheik. His family’s in oil. Guy got a giant trust fund when he turned twenty-one. Went up to New York to go to college. He may be rich, but, as he says, his money can’t buy a draft deferment. He needs a student deferment to keep him out of Nam.”
“And if this guy is in New York, when do you talk to him?”
“He calls me all the time—’bout once a week. Guess he’s homesick.”
I look at Jeep. What is his relationship with this guy? If he calls long-distance all the time? What does this guy want? “If he’s homesick, looks like he’d be calling his folks—or a girlfriend.”
“Dad works all the time. Mother’s too busy with Fort Worth society. No time for him. And no girlfriend.”
Why does this worry me? Why do I feel a twinge deep down in my gut? And is this feeling showing on my face?
I have an answer. “Don’t worry, Dewey. We’re not lovers or anything. You’re the only guy for me.”
Relief. And I don’t like the feeling. “I’ve told you I’m….”
He finishes for me. “Not that way. I know.” He pauses a split second. “Whatever.”
The hurt in his voice tears me apart. I may not be able to give him what he wants, but I still have feelings for the guy. Friend feelings, that is. “So tell me about this big music thing.”
“He says it’s still hush-hush. He’s only heard a little bit about it. But if the planners have their way and it all materializes, sometime this summer, there is going to be a giant blowout with tons of great acts. We’re talking Hendrix, Joplin, and who knows who else.”
“Sounds like fun.” I don’t know why I say this. Jeep’s so excited I don’t want to quash him, I guess.
He reaches over. Puts his hand on my thigh. “We should go, Dew.”
The heat of his hand. It feels good. Brings back memories. Memories I quickly banish. I push his hand away. But gently. Like I need full command of my leg to brake or something. The car ahead’s fifteen feet away, but I brake like I’m going to run right into his back bumper.
“My summer’s full, Jeep. Got to get ready for college, you know. Make me some spending money. Daddy’s paying tuition and dorm, but he’s not made of money. I have to work all summer.”
“Yeah. I know.” What a sad sound. Like I’ve punched him in the gut.
“Maybe your rich friend will send you a plane ticket. If he’s got as much money as you say, it would be a drop in the bucket for him, and it sounds like he wants to go to the thing. Bet he’d want somebody to go with.” Just mouthing that suggestion somehow hurts, deep down.
“Maybe. But it wouldn’t be like you and me going.”
The ache pounds in the depths of me. I can’t let this go on. Change the subject. “So—you guys still rehearsing in Larry’s garage?”
“Yeah.”
“Thought so. Cleckler, right?” I remember from the time I’d gone to hear them practice.
“Yeah.”
It’s like I’ve knocked the wind from his sails. His one-word answers are cutting me.
“Dewey’s Taxi Service aims to please, sir.” I try to lighten the mood here. “Get you there pronto.”
“Okay.” He’s not buying my attempt at humor.
The rest of the ride is in total silence. I start to switch on the radio, but Jeep’s mood has totally wrecked mine, so I can’t bear to think of “Sugar, Sugar” or “Build Me Up, Buttercup” or some other inanely cheerful song blaring out. No, it’s best just to wait it out. We’ll be on Cleckler soon.
I pull up to Larry’s house, and Jeep gets out. He leans back into the car and, without a trace of a smile, says, “Thanks.” Then he slams the door. Not an angry slam, but he closes the door a lot harder than he should have.
It breaks my heart. I can’t seem to get through to him. That night we spent together was a mistake. An aberration. I can’t imagine how I let myself get pulled into that. If Jeep is that way, it’s okay with me. But somehow, some way, I’ve got to make him believe I’m not for him.
I get home to find a note from Mother. She must have left it for me before she went to work, and somehow I missed it as I rushed out this morning. CALL ME.
I dial her work number.
“Mother? You need something?”
“Sure do, dear. I’ve got a BPW meeting tonight. Could you make dinner? If I have to cook, I’ll never make it to my meeting on time.” BPW is the Business and Professional Women’s group Mother belongs to. She’s the secretary.
“Sure. What do you want me to make?”
“I took some steaks out of the freezer. Left them on the counter. They should be defrosted by now.”
I look around. And there they are. Looking limp and unfrozen. My science teacher would be screaming right now. He says all sorts of bacteria can grow if you leave food setting out, especially raw meat. But Mother doesn’t buy it. She’s always left meat out on the counter to defrost. She claims cooking kills the bacteria. I’m not sure she’s right, but we’re not dead yet.
“See ’em. I’ll put ’em under the broiler. Fry up some onions, ’cause you know how much Daddy likes fried onions on his steak. Mashed potatoes or baked?”
“Let’s do baked, dear. There are some Bac-Os to top them with, plus we have sour cream and butter. And use the real stuff. You know how much your father hates margarine.”
Mother buys Parkay margarine because she knows I like it on my toast, but Daddy hates the stuff.
“Sure thing. Open a can of Le Sueur’s? I love those little peas!”
“I know you do, Sweet Pea. And so does your father. Sounds like a wonderful meal. I’m so glad I taught you to cook. You’re a godsend. In many ways, dear, in many ways.”
Mother is the most loving mother a guy could have.
“And dear, bake one of the Sara Lee pies in the freezer. I think we have a cherry. You like that. The pie can bake while the potatoes do.”
“Good call, Mother. Sara Lee’s not as good as your home-baked, but it will do in a pinch.” I open the freezer. “Oh, good, we have vanilla ice cream to put on top.”
“I wouldn’t have pies for my boys if I didn’t have ice cream to go with them. What kind of wife and mother do you think I am?” She giggles.
“Love you, Mother. I’ll get it all done. See you soon.”
“Love you too, Dewey. Be home at five fifteen, as usual.”
I hang
up and preheat the oven. I take out the pie and get a fork to poke some steam holes in the top crust. I grab some potatoes, scrub them really good, and wrap them in foil. When the oven dings, I pop the pie and potatoes in.
I peel two large onions and separate slices into rings, ready to fry up. I’m seasoning the steaks when Daddy comes in the back door. I was so engrossed in dinner prep I didn’t hear him come up the drive.
He heads straight to the kitchen, says, “Hey, King Cat,” and then takes a beer from the refrigerator. “Got you on KP tonight?” He pulls the ring off his beer and takes a swig.
“Yeah. Mother’s got BPW tonight, so she asked me to cook.”
“I’m proud of your mother. Those women at that thing depend on her.” He turns to go to the den and his recliner. There is a pass-through over our kitchen sink that opens to the den. It used to be a window before Daddy added the den to the house. I see him pop the footrest up on the recliner and reach for the remote. Daddy’s real proud of the TV he got with its newfangled remote control.
“Remember when the only TV control we had in the house was you, King Cat? It would be time to change the channel, and you’d go running.”
We both laugh at the memory. “That was a long time ago, Daddy. Back when I Love Lucy was brand new. Now all we get are reruns.”
“You liked your Lucy. I used to laugh just watching you laugh so hard. Bring me another beer, will you, King Cat?” He switches on the TV news as I get his beer for him.
As I hand it to him, I say, “Remember Curly?”
“That dog? Sure, I do. You’d want to go the bathroom, and I’d say, ‘Curly, get up and go with the baby to the bathroom.’ And that old dog would follow you and stay right there with you, watching you pee, and trail you back to the living room. Only way we could get you to go by yourself.”
“I sure did love that dog.” I think of Curly. And though he’s been gone now for eight or nine years, I still get a tear in my eye. Good dog.
“What’s for dinner?” I hear as I return to the kitchen.
“Steaks,” I call out.
“Well, no shoe leather this time, huh?” It’s a friendly reminder, but he means business.
I’ll never live that down. I once broiled some prime beefsteaks so dry, you could have tanned them, and Tony Lama could have made them into cowboy boots any shitkicker would be proud to own. And Daddy has never let me forget it.
All You Need Is Love Page 19
