The Books of Fell

by M. E. Kerr

  “I don’t think Little Jack does either, or his worth.”

  “The blind leading the blind.” “Yeah.”

  “Of course you’re going to enlighten your friend, hmm?”

  “I think I’ll stay out of it,” I said.

  Guy Lamb chuckled. “So he’s not that close a friend…. Good, because I don’t like his story about how he got Plum. And it’ll be interesting to see if Plum acts up on this Fen.”

  “How can he, if Fen knows nothing about him?”

  “He can, he can…. You’re a civilian, my boy. That’s what we call people who aren’t a part of the show-business family. You’d probably whistle in the theater, say the name Macbeth aloud, and wish some poor actor luck, none of which is done. We have our traditions and our customs. We’re on the superstitious side. We favor fancy over fact.”

  My father used to say the mark of the ignoramus was to poo-poo something just because you couldn’t imagine it.

  “Old Plum will take care of himself,” said Guy Lamb. “I’ll bet on old Plum any day.”

  We stood watching while Little Jack picked Plumsie up. He rested it against him face to shoulder, the way someone might hold a small child.

  “That’s better,” Guy Lamb said. “I don’t like to see Plum carried around like some stuffed animal won at a carnival for shooting ducks down. He deserves some respect.”

  That was when Little Jack looked back and spotted me.

  It wasn’t really a wave he gave me. It was more like a resigned salute.

  THE MOUTH

  And now we come to Laura, or Laura comes to us … and it is summer: Sommer, they say in mad Berlin, in gay Paree été. Now Venice, where it’s estate … and in Sanskrit (truly this time) trembling elbows. “Poor Nels!” said Laura.

  “That’s one adjective you can’t use in the same sentence with Nels Plummer,” Lenny said.

  “But you like him, don’t you?”

  “You know I more than like him, Laura.”

  “I worry about him … spending the summer alone.”

  “He could go anywhere, Laura, do anything.”

  “But who’d he go with, who’d he do it with?” Good question!

  The three of them that summer!

  They decided to take jobs at a plush inn in Lake Placid, New York-the boys waiters, and Laura a waitress.

  They knew while they were doing it how sweet it was, that not much up ahead of them would match the lazy, crazy days from June through August 1962.

  One little song like “The Wanderer” or “Ramblin’ Rose” would start them off years hence, they all bet on it!

  They’d remember the three of them chomping into egg-and-olive sandwiches Laura made on mushy white Buttercup bread, while they floated around on their days off in a Placid Palace rowboat surrounded by the mountain, their skins glistening bronze in the sun while they slathered each other with Coppertone.

  Laura could do a good imitation of Barbra Streisand, and she’d sing old revival hymns for them. “Throw Out the Life Line” (There is a brother whom someone should save) … “Bring Them In” (Bring them in from the fields of sin) … And “I’ll Stand by You ‘Til Morning.”

  She said the way to turn a gospel hymn into blues was to substitute “baby” for “Jesus,” and she’d try out her theory with hymns like “Jesus, I Come,” and “All for You, Jesus.”

  They’d skinny-dip by moonlight and at sunrise.

  Nels never spent more than he made, and he never once complained about the work. He’d get as excited by a big tip as they would.

  The only extravagant thing Nels did all summer was to buy a secondhand white Cadillac for them to get around in. After work, they’d take it across the lake to Smitty’s, where they could dance until the stars were fading in the morning sky.

  Lenny was in love with his life that summer. In love with Laura, and basking in his loving friend’s company.

  Nels kept them laughing. He could even make Laura laugh the time a party of ten ordered lobster dinners and walked out without tipping her. It was called “getting stiffed.”

  Nels’s remedy was applied as they sat around a campfire on the beach. He’d made up his hand like a face.

  NELS: Good evening, Handsome.

  HANDSOME: What’s good about it?

  NELS: Not much. I miss the sun.

  HANDSOME: Whose son do you miss?

  NELS: S-u-n! Not s-o-n!

  Laura was laughing.

  “Wait a damn minute, Nels!” Lenny said.

  “I know. I know. Some of it is your idea.”

  “Not some! All!”

  “I never saw you do ventriloquism!” Laura said to Lenny. “You just talked about how you used to do it.”

  “At Sevens House I do. Where do you think Nels got it?”

  “I changed the name from Handy to Handsome!” said Nels. “Big deal!”

  “Who cares, Lenny?” Laura said.

  Somehow Lenny came off the bad guy for caring.

  Laura moved closer to Nels. “What’s your sign, Handsome?” “Sagittarius.”

  “Like Nels.”

  “Just like him.”

  “That’s a fire sign.”

  Lenny pretended to snore. (He had hated astrology ever since Laura had told him Leo, her sign, and Virgo, his, were not a good combination. Leo would be beaten down by Virgo’s tendency to criticize.)

  Laura talked above the snoring. “I’m a fire sign, too. We’re filled with passion, Handsome, not like that earthbound character over there.”

  “When’s your birthday, Beautiful?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Nels put down his hand, his face suddenly filled with alarm and disbelief. “Why didn’t someone tell me?” He was looking straight at Lenny.

  Lenny shrugged. “We would have. Tomorrow.”

  “Too late for me to run out and get Laura the Seven of Diamonds,” Nels joked. Of all the jewelry the Sevens purchased for their women, that was the best.

  “It’s always going to be too late for that,” said Lenny sarcastically. “At least where you’re concerned.”

  And Nels looked miffed. “I was just kidding, Tra La…. But I do wish someone had said something. Aren’t we going to have a big birthday party?”

  Lenny grabbed Laura’s hand. “We’ve going to have a little one.”

  Later, Laura said that Lenny was petty sometimes. “Poor Nels,” she said. “You never let him get out front.”

  “You’re doing it again: calling him poor Nels.”

  “There’s something very defenseless about him,” Laura said. “He’s probably not original enough to dream up his own ventriloquism act.”

  “I didn’t like what he said about it being too late to run out and get you the Seven of Diamonds.”

  “He was kidding. He said so, Lenny.”

  “The Seven of Diamonds is only given to fiancées or wives. Where does he get off even kidding about it?”

  “First we invite him along with us all the time. Then you pull the rug out from under him when he takes anything for granted.”

  She made Lenny feel bad about how he’d treated Nels…. After all, the two of them had a big advantage over Nels that summer. They were the couple.

  Lenny encouraged Nels to do Handsome again, but in honor of Laura’s birthday, Nels said he wanted to present something original … Dr. Fraudulent. His hand had a German accent and a beard made out of fresh corn silk.

  “Und zo, Fräulein Laura, vat I hear iss you vant to be a doctor like me?”

  “Ja, Herr Doktor, ja!”

  “Tell me den, vat iss your darkest secret?”

  “I like nice things,” said Laura, “beautiful things! But I hate to admit it.”

  “Vell, I hav here something beaudeefill for you.”

  It was a thin, 14-karat-gold chain, perfect he said, for a gold 7, someday.

  Coincidentally (and because Laura was determined to be a shrink), Lenny had given her the collected works of Sigmund Fr
eud. He felt like a jackass for being so unromantic.

  • • •

  Some nights Lenny would see Nels standing by himself at the edge of the dance floor, watching. He would see him ask a girl to dance, only to find that when she stood up, she was even taller than Laura. Nels looked like a little squirt leading her around. He looked like some twelve-year-old kid at a wedding party having to dance with a grown-up.

  Lenny’s heart broke for his buddy then.

  He hated seeing Nels embarrassed, or awkward.

  At times, Nels would go off on his own after they came off their shifts. All there really was to do was dance. Nels would wander into town, hang out at the soda shop or the Laundromat, watching for short girls.

  Lenny’d lend him a hand, tell him the new young clerk at The Outdoor Store was just about five foot one … some other female he’d spotted not an inch over five two. He’d keep a shortie watch out for Nels. So would Laura.

  It really didn’t matter that much that Nels usually did not have anyone.

  They’d sing until they were hoarse and dance in a triangle until the soles of their feet burned.

  Maybe times it was just the three of them were the best times, because that was most of the time, and most of the time was better than good.

  “Promise that we’ll never forget this summer!”

  Laura was fond of exclaiming, and they would: They’d promise.

  • • •

  At its end Nels gave Lenny the white Cadillac to take back to Gardner.

  “We’ll have that to remember the summer by,” he said, “and Tra La can make some money renting it out.”

  • • •

  Weekends Laura’d come to see Lenny, they’d zip around Cottersville in it, the three of them squeezed into the front seat.

  chapter 8

  Little Jack was lighting up. He smoked Camels. He carried a silver Zippo. He was the only one around in shorts. His baby face, his height, and the shorts made him look even younger than seventeen — more like twelve. People probably wanted to take him over their knees and spank him for smoking.

  Even I had to remind myself he wasn’t a little kid.

  “Hello there, Fell. I hear you’ve been busy snooping around while I’ve been away.”

  “Your suitcase is at the desk,” I said.

  He didn’t say thanks or anything else.

  We started walking along together, toward the door that led from the courtyard back to the lobby. He had Plumsie tossed over his shoulder.

  He said, “My mother said you wanted to ask me something.”

  “Your father said you wanted to go first.”

  “You go first.”

  “I’m having a lot of trouble with the idea the accident wasn’t your fault, Little Jack.”

  “Jack,” he corrected me, without any sign in his face that I’d say anything he didn’t expect to hear. “That big old Caddy came right at us. It was like a suicide mission if you ask me. We couldn’t have gotten out of the way if we’d wanted to.”

  “What about if you’d been sober and you wanted to?”

  “Cork it, Fell. I wasn’t that bad off.”

  “I remember you that day.”

  “I remember you, too. You finally decided you had a few minutes to spare Dib, and you thought he’d be so thrilled at the prospect, he’d drop everything.”

  “I should never have let Dib get in that car with you.”

  “What the hell were you in Dib’s life? See you around, Kid, when I’m not busy being a kiss-ass Sevens!… Dib was the only friend I ever had.”

  “What about all those scruffy-looking characters you always had in your car?”

  “I’m talking about having a friend. One who comes first.”

  I said, “He came first with me, too.”

  “Sevens came first with you. Dib told me that.”

  We were walking down the long hall toward the registration desk when he shot that zinger at me.

  I didn’t have an answer for it. It came like a punch to my guts.

  “He should have just chucked you, but Sevens fascinated him. That’s why he let you treat him like a doormat. He was curious about that club. That’s the reason I wanted to get in touch with you. Let’s sit over here a minute. This dummy’s heavy.”

  He pointed to two captain’s chairs. As we headed toward them, he got off a few remarks about Sevens that were more obscene than they were anything else. And naturally he said we were all faggots because it always comes down to that with Neanderthal types.

  “If you were such a big friend of his, why didn’t you get him in?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t work that way, and you know it.”

  “I don’t pay any attention to Sevens. What I’m planning to do for Dib is something he’d want, not something I’d ever want.”

  “Well?” I looked at him while I waited for him to light another Camel from the old one. He was an insecure Neanderthal. He needed a prop when he talked.

  “I want you to arrange to get him on The Seventh Step,” he said.

  On The Seventh Step outside Gardner Chapel there are gold footsteps with names on them. They’re in memory of any Sevens who died while he was enrolled at school. A few were from World War I, more from World War II, when kids enlisted because they couldn’t wait…. None from Korea or Vietnam. One was in a plane crash. One had had cancer.

  In Sevens we joke about ending up on The Seventh Step, or seeing to it that someone else does. It’s part of our slang.

  I said, “Only Sevens get on that step.”

  Plumsie was stretched out at our feet, staring up at me. He had a little smile, like he was listening, amused.

  Little Jack said, “So change the rule.”

  “The Sevens would never allow it, much less go to the expense for a nonmember.”

  “I’ll pay for it.”

  “No, they won’t let you do it!”

  “I’m going to have some money soon. In a few hours, in fact.”

  “They’re not going to make any exceptions. It doesn’t matter if you have money.”

  “Don’t say they. You’re part of them.”

  “So I am. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “Gardner didn’t use to take girls. Now they are. Things can change.”

  “Some things can, but this is a waste of time.”

  “I’m selling the dummy. The damn thing gives me nightmares.”

  “Maybe it’s not the dummy; maybe it’s your conscience.”

  The atmosphere in the place was getting to me, I think. I could swear Plumsie was laughing, that his chest was moving and his lips were stretching wider.

  “Get off my case! I told you what happened.

  It’s your own conscience bugging you, Fell!”

  “I have a date,” I said. “Forget The Seventh Step.”

  “I’m getting good money for this block of wood. I’m getting a couple thou…. Tell that to Sevens.”

  Either Fen was taking him or they were both stupid. It wasn’t my business. I wouldn’t mind being around the day Little Jack found out he could have gotten a lot more thou than a couple, but that was that.

  I didn’t really have any more business with Little Jack. I realized that, finally. What was I going to do, hit someone who looked twelve years old?

  I said, “I’m going.” I stood up. He did, too, stubbed his cigarette out in one of those silver sand buckets, and picked up Plumsie.

  “Not a bad price for something I dragged out of a car wreck.”

  I looked to see his face. The expression was wise-guy smug.

  He said, swaggering a little now, “Sure, I swiped the dummy. Lenny Last was dead.”

  “So you made up the story he asked you to take care of Plumsie.”

  “Yeah, I made it up. I had a right to the dummy, considering what he did to my best friend and my dad’s car. If this wood chip here can pay for one of those gold footsteps, then it’s worth it. I’m not going to take your no for an answer.”

>   “Do what you want,” I said.

  “Thanks, I will,” he said.

  He was still keeping up with me. He wasn’t finished.

  “The guy that’s buying him? Fen? He says the damn thing’s cursed anyway. I’ve heard others say the same thing…. He says that might have caused the accident.”

  “Then why’s he buying him?”

  “He’s from Vietnam. He’s from a culture that doesn’t believe in our myths. He says the dummy he’s got doesn’t like her clothes.” He guffawed, and looked up at me for my reaction.

  I couldn’t give him anything. I shrugged and said, “That’s the way they talk.”

  “He wants the dummy right away because he’s got a job tonight, so I’m going to take the money and run.”

  We were in front of the registration desk.

  “You’re John Fell?” the fellow named Toledo asked me.

  I nodded, and he pushed a piece of paper across the desk, and said I was to call that number. It was Keats’s.

  I’d probably need a room somewhere that night. I knew what the price of a room on the ocean was in summer, even in a place like Kingdom By The Sea. There’d be no lobster dinner at Gosman’s unless I took myself down to the beach and konked out under the stars.

  I told Toledo to give Little Jack the bag, and I left him without saying any more.

  I escaped into a phone booth across the way.

  Keats answered and began wailing that the cook had quit and her folks were having sixteen people for late supper after theater that night.

  “I can’t go anywhere, Fell,” she said. “I have to help Mummy somehow. Don’t ask me how.”

  “What was the cook planning to do?”

  “We’re up to our necks in shrimp. That’s all I know. I’d say come here, but I wouldn’t even have time to talk to you.”

  I was watching Little Jack come toward the phone booth carrying a suitcase.

  Keats said, “Did you see Little Jack?”

  He was carrying my suitcase.

  “Keats,” I said, “you gave the bellperson here my suitcase. You’ve got the one with all the dummy’s stuff.”

  “I wondered if you’d shrunk,” she said, laughing. “I peeked inside and saw this teensy tiny pair of jockey shorts.” Then the wailing began again. “I could kill Cook! She ruined everything!”