There was a lengthy pause. Then Lester said, “Next day was Saturday. Momma lined us up just like she always did. And Papa sat on the front porch drinking, just like he always did. When it came my turn to take a beating, I was way too jacked up.”
Another pause. “What did you do?”
“Best I remember, when momma raised her arm with that switch drawn back, I pounced. Grabbed her arm and twisted her to the floor. Then I bent her arm back and snapped it. Broke it in two places.”
“Holy shit!” Alex said.
“I was just as mad at my father as I was at her. And when he stormed in from the porch, I gave him the meanest look I could muster. He just looked down at both of us. Didn’t say a goddamn word. My father, you see; he was no idiot. But he had no earthly idea what to do.”
“You must’ve gotten into some serious trouble.”
“I’m sure I did, but that was small compared to what I got.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got her to stop the beatings. And I got my self-respect. On that day I learned that you’ve got to stand up for yourself in this world, or you just keep taking beatings.”
“You made up with her?”
“That’s the strangest of it all,” Lester said. “She was actually good to me after that…good as she could be.” He went on to describe his siblings, how they were all intelligent, but Lester was the only one who had made something of himself. His older brother, Earl Jr., turned into an even bigger drunk than his father. His sister Mary—a straight-A student through high school—went crazy and lived a good chunk of her life in a state institution. Another sister, Esther, gave birth to one baby after another, barely raising any of them. Earlene was the only sibling still alive, and she had turned into an obese hermit.
“I was the one who made my mother proud,” Lester said. “I graduated magna cum laude at Tuskegee with a degree in engineering. I worked for one of the most powerful companies in the world, made enough money to buy the house she’d been renting, buy her a car and much more.”
Alex grinned and said, “So the moral of the story is to beat the shit out of your mother if you want to get ahead in life. I just might be able to do that.”
“See I knew you’d miss the point.”
“I’m only kidding,” Alex said. “So how come you never got married or had kids?”
“One story at a time.”
“So you’ll tell me later?”
“Don’t know.” He paused and stared at Alex. “But I will say this. You ought to be more discreet when you’re checking out a woman’s equipment.”
ALEX HAD driven over three straight hours without a break. The dashboard clock read twenty minutes to ten. The old man lay sleeping on the backseat, apparently unconcerned about the risk of getting ticketed for not having his seatbelt on or, if they hit anything, becoming a projectile. Alex had to suppress images of the car slamming into a wayward vehicle, catapulting Lester’s body onto the hood.
He looked back to check if the old man was okay. His arm was draped behind him like he was playing a game of guess which hand? And his sleeping face, which had looked so angry at the truck stop, was the slumbering image of peace.
Finally, Lester made a series of dramatic sighs as he worked his way up to vertical. “Where are we?” he asked groggily.
“Commercial Boulevard is four miles.”
“Good. That’s our exit.”
As if Alex didn’t know. On Commercial, he would head east three-and-a-half miles and cross a drawbridge into Lauderdale-by-the-Sea. Then he’d go south a mile on A1A, take a left, and he’d be staring at his father’s high-rise condo. He had spent hour after hour studying the map, visualizing the building, the palm trees and the white-capped waves. He was almost there.
They drove a few blocks down A1A in search of a decent-looking place to stay. It was too late to be choosey. Lester pointed to a little one-story motel with the word vacancy lit up in green. Just above was the motel name, Palm Grotto.
Alex squeezed the Cadillac into the alley behind the motel and angled into the first open spot. He got out and leaned against the trunk while Lester made arrangements in the office. In just a few minutes the old man came out and said, “Place is practically empty. We’ll see if the room isn’t too bad.” He handed Alex a key with the number 8 embossed in a plastic diamond. “Don’t lose this, or it costs me fifty bucks.”
Alex nodded. “I’ll get the bags.”
The room was floral everything—not the French Impressionist floral but the Michael’s Crafts variety. A plastic daisy arrangement sprung out of a plastic vase. There was gardenia wallpaper and vine-striped bedspreads on two double beds. But no palms and no grottos, except for the inadequate lighting, which felt a bit cave-like. Alex decided he didn’t want to lie next to the air conditioner rattling all night long, so he set his own bag on the bed farthest from the window, hoisting Lester’s suitcase onto the dresser.
“Guess this room’ll make us appreciate our feminine side,” Lester said as he set his shaving kit onto the vanity. “Least it’s clean.”
Alex sat at the edge of his bed lost in pleasant thoughts. This trip was starting to feel like destiny in the making. Even these small details—this room, Lester’s shaving kit, the stick against the dresser. They all felt as if they belonged. Less than a mile down the road was his father. What an amazing concept!
Lester came out of the bathroom dressed in the same pin-striped pajamas. He shuffled his way to the bed by the window and pulled back a corner of covers.
“Thanks for doing this,” Alex said.
Lester stood still for a moment. “I’m glad to be here.”
THE MOST frustrating aspect of traveling with Lester was the slowness of his gaitv, stick or no stick. Even though the pier was just a few blocks away, they had to stop five times for the old man to catch his breath. Alex tried not to let his impatience show, but when they finally arrived at the beach, he marched down through freckled sand while Lester sat on a bench by the parking lot.
Alex felt the need to shed something of his old self, and the ocean water was the perfect place to do it. He studied the gentle waves and the sea stretching out to meet the curved horizon. The early morning sun was already a good distance above the ocean, almost directly in front of him. The breeze was warm, with a choppy thickness, and it carried the odor of gutted fish from the pier. Overweight seagulls fought over a piece of bread while a pelican flew reconnaissance just offshore. There was a yacht of some significance made small by its far-off distance. Farther out were a couple of cargo ships dwarfed to the size of the capsules Alex was supposed to be taking. He narrowed his eyes and tried to determine which way the ships were traveling.
Then he reached into his mouth, and he threw the shiny object as far as he could into the sunlight.
THE FIRST section of the pier was a restaurant where Alex and Lester would have breakfast. They sat across from each other in a wooden booth with minimal padding. Lester faced east, toward the ocean while Alex had a view of the parking lot.
“It’s a big day,” Lester said, opening his menu. “You nervous?”
“No,” Alex said then caught himself. “Well, maybe a little.”
“You ought to call him before you show up at his door. Most people don’t like to be shocked.”
“If I call, he might find a way to back out.”
Lester nodded sternly. “Good point.”
A waitress arrived to take their order.
“I’ll have coffee,” Lester said, “two eggs scrambled, grits and rye toast, plenty of butter.”
She took his menu.
“A bowl of Frosted Flakes,” Alex said, “large orange juice and a cherry danish.”
Lester grimaced. “If I ate like that, you’d have to book me a slot at the local morgue.”
Legitimate point, Alex thought but didn’t say anything. The waitress smiled then turned away.
“So you want to surprise him then,” Lester said.
“I’m hoping he won’t mind.”
“He probably will. You should be ready for that.”
“I am,” Alex said. “Anything’s better than being ignored.” He opened his mouth wide, displaying the empty spot in place of the silver knob.
“You got rid of it.”
“Yup, just a few minutes ago.”
“You’re done pissing off your mother?”
“For now, I guess.”
“Think your father’ll like you better without that damn thing in your tongue?”
“No, I don’t care. That’s not why I did it.” But when he thought about it a little further, he realized the old man was right.
“When do you want to see him?”
“Right after breakfast.”
DRIVING SOUTH on A1A, Alex recognized the sequence of intersections to his father’s building. The route was cleaner than he had expected. The buildings were taller, palm trees more abundant and the grass thicker than the pictures of his mind. The other thing about the grass was that it was cut flush against the curb, giving it a look of refinement. He was starting to like his new surroundings.
And then, there it was—twenty-eight stories high—the Galt Atlantic.
He pressed the left blinker and turned toward the parking garage, which lay below the residential part of the building. A booth with a gate operator kept them from going any further. Alex’s chest felt like it was seizing up on him.
A black man in a security uniform slid open his window. “Who you visiting?”
Alex wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak. “uh,” he said. “Scott Riley, twelve-twenty-four.” His voice was definitely quivering. “I’m his son, Alex.”
The man looked beyond Alex and nodded at Lester. “I’ll still need to check.” He closed his window and picked up a phone. Then he started talking, but Alex couldn’t read his lips.
“Looks like somebody’s up there,” Lester said.
The guard peered at Alex and nodded. The gate went up.
“Wow,” Alex said. “He’s letting us in.”
“It’s a good start.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
It felt like Lester was taking the whole morning as he made his grueling way to the elevator. Slouched against the doorframe, Alex waited nervously. Come on, old man, he wanted to say. But he just stood there staring at the big orange G painted on the concrete wall. He guessed it stood for Ground, or perhaps Garage. Interchangeable G’s, he thought, and it made him feel good to know that his brain still worked.
Lester repeated his mantra, “Patience, kid,” as he poked his way with his stick and entered the elevator. Alex pushed the number twelve and stepped back. The door closed, but the elevator stopped one flight up at a marbled lobby, picking up a couple of old ladies in bathing suits and towels. They got off at the fourth. Alex and Lester had the elevator to themselves up to twelve.
“Guess you know what you’re planning to say,” Lester said.
It was sort of true. In fact, Alex had practiced and modified his opening line many times over the past year. He wasn’t about to rehash it in the elevator with Lester. “I’ve got it pretty well down,” was all he said. He was starting to wonder how he’d explain Lester’s presence. It was probably best to tell his father the truth. Lying was for parents you already knew.
Alex held the door while Lester stepped through. The hallway was long and carpeted maroon. Conical lights were spaced about every fifteen feet. Each door had a peephole and a series of silver numbers. Between huffs and puffs Lester said, “It’s one hell of an elegant place.”
Alex’s mind barely registered the remark. He walked five paces in front of Lester and stopped at the end of the hall. To his right was a door with the numbers 1224. His stomach was like a fisherman’s knot. He took a couple of deep breaths and waited. The hallway was probably set at a reasonable temperature, but it was a meat locker to Alex.
“Go ahead,” Lester said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Alex pressed the button and heard a series of bells on the other side.
There was the muffled sound of a man’s voice, then a woman’s. Someone was coming.
Alex cleared his throat.
The door swung halfway open. “Alex,” his mother said, “what a relief.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Lester said.
“You two have no idea how much trouble you’ve caused.”
“What the hell!” Alex said. “What are you doing here?”
His mother was wearing a silk robe covering a one-piece bathing suit. “I came here to find you,” she said. “I knew where you were going.”
“Where is he?” Alex asked.
“Your father’s at his restaurant. He’s agreed to see you there before we leave.”
“Bullshit,” Alex said. “I leave when I’m ready.” He took a step forward. Anger seemed to counteract his nerves. “I heard a man in here.”
“That would be Bill,” his mother said. Then she called out, “BILL.”
Alex stood in the center of a circular vestibule. Beyond, he could see a living room filled with red leather furniture and two glass walls converging at a mighty column. The windowed wall to his left overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. The view directly ahead was another high rise. Lester came up from behind and patted Alex’s shoulder.
A faucet, which had been running, shut off. Bill stepped into the living room wearing nothing but a royal blue Speedo bathing suit. His hairless torso was milky and sunburn pink. The roll of flesh hanging over his waistband was pocked and webbed with stretch marks. “Hello, Alex, Mr. Bray,” Bill said, “good to see you.” He extended a hand.
Neither of them took it.
“Holy shit,” Alex said. “Everything’s getting weirder and weirder.”
Alex’s mother touched his arm, but he thrust it back. “Don’t touch me,” he said, backing away.
“Listen, Alex,” she said, “I’m making arrangements for you to fly back with us tomorrow.” She turned to face Lester. “And Mr. Bray, I’m sorry but you’ll have to drive yourself back up or get someone else to go with you. Furthermore, I don’t appreciate what you’ve done.”
Lester nodded. “I don’t imagine you do, ma’am.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Alex said, turning to his mother. “You can’t make me go with you. I leave with Lester when we’re both ready.” He wished the old man’s hand was still on his shoulder.
“We’ll talk about it later.” His mother tightened her robe. “I’m getting dressed. Then I’ll take you to see your father. Mr. Bray, feel free to use the phone to make arrangements for yourself.” She turned abruptly toward the hallway.
Bill remained in the living room. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Think I’ll go change too,” he said.
“Fabulous idea,” Lester said then smiled at Alex. “Come on, kid, cheer up. Everything’s gonna work out the way it’s supposed to.” He made his way over to the ocean view and replanted the stick in front of him. He looked like a dilapidated tripod.
Alex stepped forward without saying anything.
“Now ain’t this something?” Lester said.
Alex tried to appreciate the view, but his mind was too wrapped up. “Don’t worry,” he said, almost whispering. “I’m not getting on any plane with them.”
Lester turned his head toward Alex. “We’ll see what you do.”
ALEX AND his mother walked a good distance apart from each other in the parking garage before converging at a red convertible Mustang. She pressed a button, and the car chirped. “Nice car,” Alex said. “Is it dad’s?”
“It’s our rental.” Then she smiled. “It is nice, though. I’m putting the top down.”
“I can drive, you know. I’ve done it most of the way down here.” The declaration was almost true. Just under half, he figured.
“I assumed Mr. Bray didn’t drive the whole way down by himself. I hope he taught you well.” She got into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition.
“You’re not driving this car!” Her words came out like ballistics.
“Easy, mom.” He waited for the top to disappear before getting in.
“Well, you’re not insured to drive it.” She backed out of the spot and turned toward the exit ramp. The engine was a symphony of muscle echoing off the walls and ceiling and back into Alex’s ribcage, which was starting to tremor all over again. He was finally going to see his father.
Free of the garage, they went south on A1A passing more condos, a few hotels, boutique shops, an ice cream parlor and fancy houses with walls around them. Then, on the left side, the road opened to the beach and the sun-streaked ocean.
The alarming brightness of it all forced him to shade his eyes with his hand. He could see an elaborate lifeguard structure made of fiberglass and aluminum legs. If someone stamped on the NASA logo, it could have passed for a lunar module. The day was good for sunbathers, and there were quite a few—mostly older people who probably should have been more concerned with calories than pigmentation.
A couple more traffic signals and they turned right. A quick left and they were in the parking lot of The Flaming Coral.
Alex remained in his seat.
“I’m perfectly willing to go in with you,” his mother said, turning off the engine.
“I’m doing this myself.”
His mother was wearing the kind of sunglasses that mirrored your stretched out face. “Before you go in,” she said, “there’s something I want you to know.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t suppose it matters to you. In fact, I’m sure it doesn’t. But I loved your father very much. That’s how it was. I loved him.”
“Is that all?”
She didn’t say anything. It seemed like she was about to cry, in which case Alex couldn’t get out of the car quickly enough. “I’m going in,” he said. “You stay away.”
Cadillac Chronicles Page 8
