The Son of Someone Famous

by M. E. Kerr

  “I didn’t say it,” she said. “I asked it. . . . What do I care if Charlie’s drunk again? I’m not completely sober myself.”

  “DON’T CALL MY GRANDFATHER BY HIS FIRST NAME!” I shouted. “And don’t say drunk again.” I slumped down in the kitchen chair. “Look,” I said, “if we’re going to establish Nothing Power around here, it begins at home, like charity. . . . My poor grandfather.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I am. I hope Dr. Blessing is all right.”

  “I’m just glad Billie Kay isn’t here,” I said.

  “I’m really sorry,” Brenda Belle said. “Are we still going steady?”

  “Yes,” I said, “but try to think before you shoot off your big mouth again.”

  “I intend to,” said Brenda Belle.

  When a horn honked in the yard, I reached for my coat. The two-fifty I had left over from my weekly allowance was in the pocket. I’d been planning to buy something for my grandfather with it, a bottle of good wine or some expensive pipe tobacco. I grabbed the money and went out to pay for the taxi. So much for his Christmas remembrance, I told myself. He’d been insisting he didn’t want anything anyway.

  My grandfather was all dressed up. He had on a double-breasted pin-striped suit that had seen better days, a blue shirt with a round white collar, a polka-dot tie and a black wool scarf. His coat didn’t match his outfit: he was wearing a short plaid lumber jacket.

  “You didn’t have to come out and meet me, A.J.,” he said, ignoring the fact that the driver was waiting to be paid. “Go back to your guest. I’ll be no trouble.” He was talking in that strange, stilted way he’d written the note.

  I shoved the money at the cab driver. “Enough?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. Then he turned and said, “Charlie, want me to help you in?”

  “Help me?” my grandfather said, as though he’d received a slap in the face. “I’m not in my grave yet.”

  “I didn’t mean that, Charlie,” the driver said. “I meant you had a little too much Christmas cheer.”

  “Nonsense,” said my grandfather. He stepped out of the cab and made his way stiffly across the yard, weaving slightly.

  I waved the taxi driver on and went alongside my grandfather to take his arm. He shook my hand away. “Do you think I’m an incompetent, too?”

  “No, sir. I was just helping you.”

  “Well, I happen to hate help!”

  “Yes, sir. I won’t help you then.”

  “I don’t hate helping but I hate help. Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly,” I said.

  I opened the door and he walked into the kitchen, standing before Brenda Belle, swaying a bit like some tall Georgia pine shaking in the breeze.

  “Why, Faith!” he said.

  “Welcome to Time Tunnel,” I said to Brenda Belle. “Welcome to the Distant Past.”

  “Hello, Dr. Blessing,” Brenda Belle said.

  “You and Hank know how to laugh,” my grandfather said, “and that’s more important than anything else. Millie never makes him laugh. She doesn’t have that gift.”

  Then my grandfather walked into the living room, stretched out on the couch in his coat, and passed out.

  I walked Brenda Belle up the hill to her house.

  “I’m sorry Christmas Eve had to be cut short,” I said.

  “He called it a gift,” Brenda Belle said. “Making someone laugh is a gift. I never thought of that.”

  “He liked your father a lot,” I said.

  “I’ll bet he didn’t like my mother.”

  “He doesn’t dislike your mother. . . . He just said your father and your aunt laughed a lot together.”

  “Boy, I bet that really made my mother mad,” Brenda Belle said.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  Then she said, “Be thinking about what you’re going to give me to prove we’re going steady. Ty Hardin gave Christine Cutler his football letter, and a little gold football she wears on a chain.”

  “I’ll be thinking,” I said.

  “I’m going to work on a mash note for Ella Early, too.” Brenda Belle giggled and squeezed my arm. “Nothing Power is the greatest invention since sliced bread!” she said.

  “It’ll have to be our Christmas gift to each other,” I told her, “because I’m flat broke.”

  “Merry Christmas,” Brenda Belle said. We were in front of her door. “Merry Christmas and a real Nothing New Year!”

  Notes for a Novel by B.B.B.

  “I don’t see how you can be going steady so suddenly,” my mother said. “Nothing happened last night, did it, Brenda Belle?”

  I realized a strange thing when she said that: Adam and I hadn’t even kissed.

  “Nothing like that,” I said. ‘‘We just kissed.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “You were very talkative when you came in,” my mother said.

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “Well, you mentioned that you had a little punch. Are you sure you remember everything that happened?”

  “Mother,” I said, “we didn’t have sex. I’d have remembered that.”

  “Don’t say that, Brenda Belle!”

  “What? Don’t say what?”

  “S-e-x,” my mother said.

  “We didn’t have relations,” I said. “We didn’t make o-u-t.”

  “No one buys the cow if he can get the milk free,” my mother said.

  “Thanks a lot,” I said. “Mooooooo.”

  “I’m sorry, dear. It’s just that I’m a little bewildered. He didn’t even give you a Christmas gift, did he?”

  “He will,” I lied. I planned to buy myself a box of candy in Corps and say Adam gave it to me.

  “And what about your gift for him?” she said.

  “I’m going to give him a plant,” I said.

  That was sort of true, even though it wasn’t a plant yet. It was still a sweet potato. I decided to take it right down to him without being asked, because I was afraid that if I called, he’d say not to come. I didn’t completely trust Nothing Power yet, and I wanted to see Billie Kay Case again.

  I arrived about two thirty that Christmas afternoon.

  Dr. Blessing answered the door. “Come in,” he said. “Are you a friend of Adam’s?”

  He didn’t even remember our meeting the night before.

  “I’m Adam’s girlfriend,” I said. “Brenda Belle Blossom.”

  “Of course,” he said. “You look a lot like your Aunt Faith. . . . Adam’s on the phone, talking to his father,” he said as we walked through the kitchen. I could see Adam standing over near the refrigerator, hunched over the telephone receiver.

  “Come in and meet Mrs. Waite,” Dr. Blessing said.

  “That’s all right,” I said. “I know who she really is. Adam told me all about being her neighbor.”

  Billie Kay Case smiled up at me as I entered the living room.

  “Well, hi, Betty Belle,” she said.

  “Brenda Belle,” I said. “Is that Janice?”

  “Yes, dis is my little snookums, Danice,” she said. She was holding this Siamese cat that was trying hard to get away. There were scratches on her arm. “Little Danice is afwaid of trangers,” she said. The cat spat at her. She slapped its nose.

  Dr. Blessing was walking around the room wearing the same suit and tie he’d had on the night before. He kept clearing his throat nervously and frowning across at Billie Kay and her cat.

  There was a certain amount of tension in the room, but I couldn’t figure out what was causing it.

  I said, “You two go right on talking. Don’t mind me.”

  “We weren’t talking,” Billie Kay said. “Dr. Blessing doesn’t have a lot to say to me.”

  “That’s not quite true,” Dr. Blessing said.

  From the kitchen I could hear Adam say, “I don’t care if your package is late. Stop apologizing, Dad.”

  Billie
Kay Case told Dr. Blessing, “Well, if it’s not quite true that you don’t have anything to say to me, by all means say what you have to say. You seem to be building up to something.”

  “I’m not building up to anything,” Dr. Blessing said.

  “I’m getting bad vibes,” Billie Kay said. “I’ve only been here half an hour and I’m getting bad vibes already.” She was still trying to handle the Siamese, holding it down like her hand was a weight.

  “I’ve seen a few of your old movies,” I said. “My Aunt Faith is a real fan of yours.”

  “You look a lot like your Aunt Faith,” Dr. Blessing told me again.

  The cat jumped out of Billie Kay’s grasp, ran toward the curtains and climbed them. Billie Kay ran after her.

  Then Dr. Blessing snapped. “Leave her alone!”

  “Wh-what?” Billie Kay turned around and stared at him, as though she’d never been spoken to that way in all her life.

  “I said leave her alone!”

  “I heard what you said but I don’t believe my own ears,” Billie Kay said. She was wearing this red velvet pants suit and her face was turning a matching shade of red.

  From the kitchen, Adam was saying, “Dad, I didn’t expect you to come here. I know you’re busy!”

  Dr. Blessing was facing Billie Kay, his own face red, too. His hands were balled to fists at his side, and his voice shook as he spoke. “All right!” he said. “I’ll say what I have to say! A cat owner who has scratches on her arms shouldn’t own a cat! A cat doesn’t scratch unless it’s being hurt or terrified! A cat—”

  Billie Kay didn’t let him finish. “Now you listen to me, Mr. Know-It-All! These little scratches are from the game that Janice and I play! I tickle her stomach and she scratches.”

  “That’s your little game,” Dr. Blessing said. “It isn’t the cat’s idea of a game, or she wouldn’t scratch you. You tickle her too hard! How would you like some monster fifty times your size digging her fingers into your belly? That’s what it feels like to that poor creature! You don’t know how to handle a cat; you shouldn’t own a cat!”

  “Why, you old drunk,” Billie Kay said. “Who are you to tell anyone how to handle anything?”

  “I am a doctor of veterinary medicine!” he said. “And I happen to be sober enough to see why that cat is a nervous wreck! Leave her the hell alone! Stop using her like a goddamn toy! Let the creature relax! Let her sleep without you mauling her! Let her sit for a while and clean herself without you picking her up and messing up her fur! If you want something you can hug and lavish attention on, get a big hound dog! That’s a little creature up there on the curtains!”

  Billie Kay sat down on the couch shaking her head from side to side. “You are something,” she said. “You are something to write home about, Mr. Doctor Blessing! That cat is my treasure. I would no more hurt that cat than I would put my own hand in fire!”

  “She’s not a relaxed animal, anyone can see that,” Dr. Blessing said. “She won’t even come to you when you call her.”

  “Cats don’t!” Billie Kay said.

  “Cats do, if you treat them properly. That little thing is practically wild.”

  “She’s high-strung,” said Billie Kay. “She’s Siamese.”

  “You’re high-strung,” Dr. Blessing said, “and she reflects it!”

  I said, “It must be wonderful to be an old movie star.” I was hoping to break up the argument.

  “You can see how wonderful it is,” Billie Kay said. “You can see how much respect an old movie star gets.”

  “You’re younger than I am,” Dr. Blessing said.

  “God himself is younger than you are,” Billie Kay said. “Methuselah is younger than you are.”

  Adam walked into the room at that point. “What’s all the shouting about?” he said.

  “She asked for conversation and she got it,” Dr. Blessing said.

  “It’s such gracious conversation, too,” Billie Kay said.

  “What’s Janice doing up on the curtains?” Adam asked.

  “Trying to escape before she’s tickled to death,*’ Dr. Blessing said.

  “Are you two fighting?” Adam asked.

  “Oh, no, love,” Billie Kay answered. “We’re just having a friendly discussion about the fact I’m not a fit person to own a cat!”

  “Grandpa!” Adam said. “Why would you say something like that?”

  “Because I don’t like cruelty to animals!” he said.

  “Never mind people!” Billie Kay said.

  “People can take care of themselves,” Dr. Blessing snapped.

  I said, “I brought you a Christmas present, Adam, to celebrate our going steady.”

  “Adam!” Billie Kay exclaimed. “What nice news!”

  “Congratulations,” Dr. Blessing mumbled as he passed us on his way into the kitchen. “That calls for a beer.”

  “Doesn’t everything?” Billie Kay said sarcastically.

  He began slamming things around in the kitchen, and Billie Kay leaned forward and beckoned Adam and me closer. “Why don’t you two go for a walk?” she said. “You probably want to spend a little time alone together on Christmas Day. Dinner won’t be ready for hours.”

  “No, really,” Adam said. “We can see each other all the time. We’ll stay right here.”

  “A.J.,” Billie Kay said, “take Betty Belle for a walk!”

  “Honestly, Billie Kay,” Adam said, we want to stay here.”

  “I don’t want you to!” she said. “I have a few things to get off my chest with that ornery character in the kitchen!”

  “He doesn’t mean what he’s saying,” Adam said.

  “Oh, yes, he does! And I mean what I’m going to say to him!”

  “She wants us to go, Adam,” I said.

  “Just blow, A.J.! Come back in about an hour!”

  We walked along Ski Tow Avenue in the bright sun.

  “I hope they’ll be all right together,” Adam said.

  “My present for you is this sweet potato,” I said, taking it out of my coat pocket and handing it to him.

  “Fine, fine,” he laughed. “I have some old coffee grounds for you.”

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “I’m not kidding. You put this in a glass of water, stick in three toothpicks so it’ll hang in the glass, and it’ll begin to sprout green buds in no time. It has Nothing Power.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll try it.” He put the potato in his coat.

  “It’ll be a gorgeous plant before you know it,” I said, “and you can pot it. I have a reason for giving it to you, aside from Nothing Power.”

  “What is it?”

  “Since we’re going steady now, I’m teaching you about beautiful things . . . since I’m not a beautiful thing.”

  “I don’t get you, Brenda Belle.”

  “This will become a beautiful thing, but after it’s a beautiful thing for a while, it’ll change,” I said.

  “How will it change?”

  “It’ll begin to stink,” I said. “It will make you realize that beauty is not that big a deal, just in case you wish you were going steady with a beauty contest winner.”

  Adam laughed. “I’m satisfied with you, Brenda Belle.”

  “That’s another thing. Try to call me ‘honey’ or ‘darling’ or something besides my name. It won’t be believable if you don’t.”

  “I’ll try,” he said.

  “And I’ll need something of yours. How about that ring you’re wearing?”

  “It’s my father’s ring,” he said.

  “Adam, it’s just a loan.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I guess it’ll be okay.” He took it off and handed it to me. “Don’t lose it, though. It was his school ring.”

  “You can have it back anytime you ask for it,” I said. I tried it on, but it was too big. I planned to put it on a chain and wear it around my neck.

  I said, “What does your father do, Adam?”

  “He travels aroun
d a lot.”

  “Is he a traveling salesman?”

  “You could say that.”

  “My father was in the rodeo,” I said. “He was a star.”

  “That’s very exciting,” Adam said.

  “I’m not saying my father was better than your father because mine was a star and yours is just a salesman, but sometimes blood will tell.”

  “I suppose so,” Adam said.

  “My secret desire is probably to be a writer,” I said. “I keep these notebooks I call ‘Notes for a Novel’ and I write down everything that happens—when anything happens, which it doesn’t often.”

  I caught a glimpse of Ty Hardin walking toward us. He was probably coming from Christine Cutler’s.

  Adam was saying, “I don’t know what I’ll be. I used to want to be a doctor. An M.D. . . . But I hate science.”

  Ty Hardin is just about THE most handsome boy in Storm, and maybe in all of Burlington County.

  He’s a towhead, and his hair is silky and longer than other boys’ hair. Everything about Ty is a little more special than the others, including, I suppose, his girlfriend, initials: C.C.

  “Here comes Ty Hardin,” said Adam.

  “Big deal,” I said, but I was by no means immune to Tyrone Hardin. As he came closer, I felt suddenly tongue-tied, rubber-kneed, gross.

  “Merry Christmas, Ty!” said Adam.

  “Hi, Adam, Brenda Belle. Merry Christmas.”

  My mouth got loose from my mind. “Well, how was the old Noel party at the Cutlers’?” I asked him.

  Ty made a face. He said, “Snore.”

  I laughed and laughed.

  Ty put his folded hands up under his chin and made ZZZZZ noises.

  I cracked up again.

  Adam said, “It was boring, huh?”

  I said, “Oh no, it was fab, wasn’t it, Ty? It was marvy. It was a barrel of, huh, Ty?” I nudged his ribs with my elbow.

  “It was a barrel of, all right,” he smiled at me.

  I laughed again, holding my sides because they were beginning to hurt. “Another gala evening at Christine Cutler’s, wheeeeee!”

  “Well, see you,” Ty said, passing us with a little wave.

  “Not if we see you first!” I called back. Then I shouted after him, “Hey, Ty! We’re an item! Adam and I are going steady!”