by Ian Williams
Edgar opened his eyes wide as if that was exactly what he intended to say and was now waiting for her response.
She opened hers wider. The answer is—
That you’ll think about it, Edgar interrupted. Think about it and tell me soon. I’m not doing this to position myself favourably before a magistrate, Felicia. You don’t think I couldn’t just write cheques to these women.
I could answer you now. And she wound up to say a big, fat—
No, think about it, he said. There’s one more part.
She stood up and stepped off his shoes. She’d walk back to her car in her impractical heels or barefoot but not in anything belonging to Edgar Gross.
I don’t expect that you, he began then began again. I said last time, if there’s anything I could do or offer to secure your cooperation then I’d be willing to, to, to oblige.
She mentioned nothing about the two Paperplane envelopes that had arrived in the mail.
* * *
+
(Felicia knew the nurses/caregivers were hookers only years after the fact.
She recalled a conversation where she wanted to call the agency herself and Edgar refused to give her the number. She couldn’t understand why. She thought the problem was her accent.
No, I should call. As a man.
That puzzled her more.
As son. Just tell me when you’re going and how long you’ll be and I’ll make arrangements.
It was a clue.)
* * *
+
On the drive home, the Barenaked Ladies taunted her from the radio.
She would not go back fifteen years for a million dollars. Well, I’d buy you a house. There was no way in hell, in heaven or hell, short of the Lord himself revealing an alternate will to her in a dream. A nice Reliant automobile. She felt a swarm of Latinate locusts crawling over her: transaction, cooperation, manipulation—business people loved to invent new words by adding tion—strategization. Like little pre-wrapped sausages and things. Notfortheworldtion. Yep, like a llama or an emu. And the calculation of his presentation was offensive, sitting at the graveside. Well, I’d buy you John Merrick’s remains. All them crazy elephant bones. Some bigger news would drop, Felicia was sure. He was bribing her or playing with her or recruiting her in advance. We wouldn’t have to eat Kraft Dinner.
A million dollars now could not make up for the time she didn’t have enough for food, before she got this secretary job, and had to send Army to school with a mayonnaise sandwich, how she took a cash advance on a credit card that she repaid at 29 percent interest when he came home and said, You forgot to put meat in my sandwich but Jason gave me some of his salami. Well, I’d buy you a green dress. But not a real green dress, that’s cruel. Oh no, no, no, Edgar Gross. She would find a way to afford fixing Army’s slight overbite and ragged bottom teeth if he’d consent to wearing orthodontics. Just lower braces, the orthodontist said. Dijon ketchups. And now that she was above water, Edgar Gross wanted to swoop down and skim along the surface of her life so men would take him seriously. Haven’t you always wanted a monkey! Seriously.
Felicia came home to a full-out barbecue in the garage. Army was jangling over a black round charcoal grill (whose? whose charcoal? whose permission?) with a spatula in one hand and a can of coconut water in the other among a bunch of guys. Condiments (hers), cartons of juice (hers), the emergency bread (hers) she started keeping in the freezer were laid out on a lounge chair she hadn’t seen before. She realized that to ground Army well—in a way that was intended to teach him a lesson—would require more vigilance than she could afford. Or possibly an ankle monitor.
I can’t help if they come here, Army said. They’re not grounded.
Well, I can help it.
The garage is still part of the house, he said.
She clarified: You are not to step foot beyond this doorway. You grounded another day for disobedience. Who all this belong to?
Not Mr. O.
Who?
Not Mr. O.
Felicia shut down the affair, put a sign on the door: Army is grounded. Do not ring for him.
Army contested that grounding him at fourteen was unfair and embarrassing but by the next evening he didn’t seem particularly bothered by the punishment. He was a child of forgiving disposition, like an empty plastic container one could not hold underwater for long. Felicia suspected that he had taken down the sign when she went to work and put it back up when she was to return. He was smiley but he was playing dirty. Instead of finding evidence for her suspicion and upsetting his keel, she let it go. And it occurred to her that in marriage she would be as silently prudent and longsuffering but unfooled a wife as she was a mother.
But that night when she heard Army talking to someone out his window, she ordered him back to bed from her own bed.
I’m in the house, he said. Are you trying to kill me?
She placed a hand over her eyes, considering Barenaked Ladies, though not in the way Army had been from the abutting bedroom.
Army
Exegesis
Army was talking to Heather on the phone, trying to figure out how to make more money. He walked into the kitchen with the cordless.
Let me ask. Mom, would you have a problem if I sold drugs?
We are going to church this week, Felicia said.
I wouldn’t be using drugs. I’d just be selling them.
I need to place you before the altar.
Put aside your moral objection for—
That’s all I have.
She’s going righteous, he said to Heather.
I can hear, Heather said.
Felicia said, If you stop breaking fences, you might have some money save up.
Heather yawned on her end. You could just bank everybody’s money, no? My business teacher said banks don’t actually keep your money. They know that most people won’t come in and ask for all their money.
That’s not true.
At least, not at the same time. Something like that. They invest it.
I should be a bank? He sat at the kitchen table and spun a banana.
You’d have to promise them interest in return.
Felicia: You are not taking any money from any child on this street so their mothers could come to me complaining. Remember Nick Greco.
Nick Greco’s a punk, Army said. You want me to invest your money?
Who’re you asking? Heather asked.
Both of you. Mom?
No, Felicia said.
He covered the receiver. How about Dad? You think he might—
Stop threatening me with your father, Felicia said. We are going to church this week.
Army uncovered the mouthpiece. You want to come to church with me?
* * *
+
At church, Army was to find the answer to his questions / of money. He encountered two things that would lead to the end of his world.
The first was the scripture reading, Revelation 18:9–14.
9 And the kings of the earth, who have committed fornication and lived deliciously with her, shall bewail her, and lament for her, when they shall see the smoke of her burning,
10 Standing afar off for the fear of her torment, saying, Alas, alas, that great city Babylon, that mighty city! for in one hour is thy judgment come.
11 And the merchants of the earth shall weep and mourn over her; for no man buyeth their merchandise any more:
12 The merchandise of gold, and silver, and precious stones, and of pearls, and fine linen, and purple, and silk, and scarlet, and all thyine wood, and all manner vessels of ivory, and all manner vessels of most precious wood, and of brass, and iron, and marble,
13 And cinnamon, and odours, and ointments, and frankincense, and wine, and oil, and fine flour, and wheat, and beasts, and sheep, and horses, and chariots, and slaves, and souls of men.
14 And the fruits that thy soul lusted after are departed from thee, and all things which were dainty and goodly are departed from thee, and
thou shalt find them no more at all.
The second was the Praise Team, two guys on guitar, one on drums, another playing keyboard, another piano, and a kid with a trumpet. They all seemed epicene, long hair falling into their eyes. Maybe a family? The tallest one was the one he sold Oliver’s guitar to. His brothers were slightly more attractive and closer to Army’s age. Jackpot.
* * *
+
Army found it titillating to write the word sex on an offering envelope. He shaded it with his hands so Felicia and Hendrix couldn’t see and showed it to Heather.
Sex, it said.
She glanced askance at him. Grow up.
It was her first time in church in a very long time and she was extremely attentive to the service, so attentive she made Army want to pay closer attention. She sang. She said Amen. She crossed herself and Army had to tell her, We don’t do that here. Yet Army wondered if he was missing something. Hendrix was fighting sleep on Felicia’s shoulder.
During the prayer, Army came to a more nuanced question. He whispered to Heather, Who the sexiest brutha in here?
Heather exaggerated her offence when she looked at him.
She looked good praying. There was a little bit of fat in her cheek that he liked. It seemed amplified in prayer. Did Heather love him? He wanted to know whether Heather loved him, not liked him, but loved-him loved him, I-ee-I-will-always-love-you-loved him. If when she moved back to America she’d lie on her bed with her hand clutching her heart. Was it possible, he wondered, for her to know how physical his longing was for her, curled up on his bed, his hand fondling his pubic hair? He loved her. He loved her, loved-her loved her, he loved Ha-h-hh-hh haa-ha. I know this much is true.
When they were seated again, Army nudged her and directed his eyebrows to various middle-aged men and Heather twisted her face into various forms of horror. Then he became more reasonable.
How about him? he whispered during an offertory appeal, right into her ear.
Which one?
Guitar. With the hair.
She paused a long time, Army would think in retrospect, before answering. She pushed out her bottom lip. Why? she asked.
Army shrugged.
The younger one’s better looking, Heather said. She was red.
Felicia shot him a look and pointed to the other side of her, intending to separate them. So Army laid off for a while.
While they were singing the offertory response, he started up again into Heather’s ear: He sexy? Meaning the guy with the bangs playing guitar.
I don’t know. Why?
Do you find him sexy?
Kinda. Stop saying sexy. Why?
Army desisted for a time.
You know who be the sexiest girl in here though, he said.
She snorted her appreciation.
Then he went to the bathroom. For a very long time. More than fifteen minutes.
I need you to do something, he said when he returned.
What?
Just promise.
Promise, she said, too hastily, just to get the mystery over. She couldn’t know she was selling her birthright for pottage of lentils.
After church, he said. Then Amen after Amen to the preacher.
* * *
+
After church, Army led Heather to the back wall of the building, a narrow strip of asphalt where the cars couldn’t park or pass and that was not visible from the street. Just a footpath, really, a shortcut for teenagers. Three guys, one with a guitar case, were exiting the rear, brown metal door of the church. They were still out of earshot.
I dare you to flash those guys, Army said.
I’m not flashing them, Heather said.
Just real quick. Up and down. Real quick.
No.
Heather, come on.
I said no, Army.
You promised.
I didn’t promise to do that. She folded her arms as the guys entered earshot.
Boys, Army said. This is my friend, Heather. We’ve run into a little problem.
He stepped back with Heather, turned his back to the boys, and begged. He tugged at her shirt. They skirmished. But her eyes glinted.
Finefinefine. Stop it, she said finally and slapped his hands away.
She looked at him while quickly unbuttoning the top half of her shirt. Before she could lower the straps of her bra, a side door opened and Skinnyboy emerged, holding his guitar case and talking to someone behind him. It was just enough time for them. Heather spun toward the rear fence. Army shielded her. The boys walked away as if nothing had happened.
Skinnyboy approached too familiarly, Army would observe in retrospect, although they had history, the guitar, the refused haircut, the failed negotiations. Skinnyboy greeted them both with a nod but his eyes spent more time on Heather than Army.
Army thought he could capitalize on the boy’s obvious interest. Hey, you want to see something?
Heather walked away with her arms folded and her shoulders high. When Army ran after her, she kept shrugging him away although he was not touching her.
* * *
+
In the backseat, Hendrix was twirling a cardboard lollipop of King David. Felicia asked Heather what she thought of the service. She said she was still thinking about it and looked out the window in what could be interpreted as deep religious contemplation. Heather didn’t say a word to Army.
Felicia was irritated because she couldn’t find Army after church. She had wanted to leave right away to avoid some prying, disingenuous Jazz.
I thought you wanted to talk to them, Army said.
You don’t know some of those women, she told him. They just digging and digging from before the time you was born. Then you should have hear them when you was born. My mother warn me. Once you see I take out my keys you know is time for we to go.
I was about my father’s business.
Army had effectively silenced her. It was the first time he had gone to church in about six weeks and he had brought visitors and he stayed awake and he was more pious than when he left home.
Who you was talking to so long? Felicia asked.
I saw, Hendrix said.
Thou dost not know the work for which I have to do. Army slid his hands along his forearms and clasped his wrists.
Don’t make a mockery of scripture, Felicia said.
* * *
+
That evening, he located his red, illustrated children’s Bible in a drawer under some essays from last year.
He underlined and fine flour, and wheat, and beasts, and sheep, and horses, and chariots, and slaves, and souls of men.
He double-underlined and horses, and chariots, and slaves, and souls of men.
He placed the frayed tongue in the Bible to mark the spot.
Heather
Expression
The Monday after she went to church, Heather met Skinnyboy after his shift at Zellers and confessed the truth because she figured he might have heard it already from the boys at church. Her truth went, Her neighbour was trying to force her to flash some guys. She said no. Thank God you came out when you did.
Yeah? he said. He was still in his uniform. So hot.
She tried to look contrite. She wanted his forgiveness to be grudging and slow, though she knew she didn’t need it from him. He wasn’t going to bestow, to make the sign of the cross over her. Her point in the gesture was contrition.
She tried to work herself up into tears outside his car in the Zellers parking lot.
He said nothing. Perhaps he already knew. He was not surprised. He tossed his knapsack into the trunk where his guitar and a notebook lay.
You never play me anything, she said, although he had.
I don’t play for just anybody, he said. But, hey, we’re doing a show in a couple of weeks. You should come. I don’t really make music for people though. If they like it— Here he shrugged. Even as he was protesting, he was lifting the guitar out of its case to play her a concert.
&nbs
p; He began. The guitar was slipping from his grip. He looped the strap around his neck. He restarted. He messed up on a chord. He restarted. He forgot the words. He got out the notebook. He restarted. The wind was lifting the pages. Heather held the pages down. He restarted.
It’s new, he said as an apology when he was finished.
It’s good, she said.
It’s a bit darker than the stuff I normally write. It’s not really done yet.
Sounds done to me.
Skinnyboy tried not to smile. Various throat clearings, hair swinging, clothes adjusting motions. Heather knew from a PBS documentary that primping activity was the mating call of primates.
Here, you want it? Skinnyboy ripped the page from the spiral.
Don’t you need it? she asked.
It’s up here. He tapped his head. He tapped his heart. And here.
In retrospect, she would label him a cornball. But at that moment, in the parking lot, she couldn’t resist his wuthering heights. She tiptoed up to his six-foot-two bendiness and kissed him. The guitar was still between them. He went red when she pulled away and to cover he ducked into his car.
I’ve got a copy, he said, as he was rummaging. I record raw versions. You never know. He emerged holding a tape, which he gave her.
She kissed him again. Redly.
It’s just a working demo, he said, as if nothing happened, and wiped his nose in a circle with a paw.
Are you going to keep giving me stuff if I keep kissing you?
Heather wasn’t thinking about Oliver’s guitar in the backseat. Her gaze was in the general vicinity, never quite rising to his eyes, but she was making sure Skinnyboy saw her see him twist the lower half of his body away from her. Soon he would put his hands in his pockets to disguise the bulge.
She wagged her jaw, took two steps back then turned and walked toward the catwalk. She wanted him to see, she wanted him to see her, she wanted him to see her walk away on the catwalk yeah I shake my little tush on the catwalk.
