“JJ O’Neil.”
“Yeah, I know.” I pointed to the labeler. “You used one of those before?”
He kept his eyes on my face, almost like he could read my intentions there and didn’t want to miss anything. He nodded. “I’ve worked in food stores, supermarkets, most summers.”
Which explains that, anyway. I nodded, barely making note of the slight lilt to his speech. “Dad asked me to show you how to clean fish tanks.”
He smiled then, finally, and his face changed from wary to…I dunno, maybe bright? I couldn’t help but smile back. He said, “Great! I want to learn about fish and amphibians. They’re the animals I know least about. Is now okay with you, or should I go on with this for a while?”
At least he understood the pecking order here. Maybe I was in disgrace, but JJ wouldn’t know that, and I was still the owner’s son. “Why don’t we go ahead and get started? I’ll help you stack the cans you’ve labeled already.”
As we walked toward the amphibian area he said, “Mr. Landon said you knew practically everything there is to know about the store. I hope you don’t mind if I ask lots of questions.”
It took me a few seconds to recover from JJ’s first statement. Dad said something complimentary about me? And to someone else? Then I wondered why JJ was already so full of questions. “No problem. Are you planning to have a store one day yourself?”
He laughed, and it had a nice sound. “No, probably not. I want to work with animals. Maybe I’ll be a vet someday. That would be my dream job.”
“So why are you so interested in this store?”
“Oh, I’m interested in anything having to do with animals, and with people who love them. Your father seems like a real animal lover.”
This took me a little aback. “This is your first day, right? How do you know how my dad feels about animals?” We were standing at the tanks by now, but I wanted to hear what JJ’s answer would be, beyond the obvious; I mean, why would someone who didn’t like animals have a pet supply store, anyway?
“Oh, we had a great talk when I was here for my interview a few weeks ago. I know he likes black Labradors best, even though some other breeds are smarter. And that he doesn’t much like cats, which I think is too bad. It’s just that they’re different from dogs. People who like dogs often think cats are disloyal, but it’s only that they aren’t pack animals and don’t develop bonds in the same way dogs do. Dogs live by social hierarchy. Cats live by rules and routines. I guess your mom is allergic, huh?”
I wanted to dislike the guy. He was showing off by getting here early, he’d already figured out that my dad’s favorite dog was something other than what I thought it was, ’cause I’d assumed Dad liked the smarter dogs best, and he was giving me a lecture on animal behavior. Plus, he already knew something about my mom. Under normal circumstances, all this together would have more than wiped out how good I’d felt a few minutes ago when he’d passed on that compliment Dad had never seen fit to say directly to me, and I’d hate his guts. But he seemed so…I don’t know, there was something about him that seemed beyond calm, almost removed, like even though he knew all this stuff, he didn’t pretend it gave him some kind of edge. I would have had to talk myself into believing that he was trying to puff himself up even, let alone wanting to be on some kind of par with me. All I said was, “Yeah. She is. Listen, let’s get started here.”
I took him first to the schedule posted in the stockroom behind the tanks. “We don’t try to do all the tanks at once. Each tank has a number, and it corresponds to this chart.” I was about to go over what had been done last, but instead I asked, “Can you tell what we should be working on today?”
JJ took about five seconds to figure this out. “Number eleven today, right? Wait…eleven through fifteen.”
I nodded. Didn’t want to give him too much encouragement. “And can you tell what we need to do to them?” Ha. That will take a little more—
“Looks like we’re cleaning these, and then we replace the filters in tanks one through five.” He turned to face me. “Why is that? Why won’t we—”
“Fish tanks have beneficial bacteria in them that do stuff like remove ammonia and other toxins the filters don’t get all of. Some of this bacteria is in the filters. When we clean a tank, we replace about twenty percent of the water, which takes away some of the bacteria. So we wait to replace the filter—”
“…so you don’t deplete the environment of the bacteria! Of course. And do you replace only part of the water for the same reason?”
I let a beat or two go by. I don’t like being interrupted. “That, plus it’s a lot of stress on the fish to change their entire environment all at once. And if we want another reason, it’s so we don’t have to take the fish out of the tank to clean it.”
“Brilliant!” He beamed at me like it had been my idea. “Should the new water be warmed?”
I could tell it would be tough to keep this kid under control. I didn’t want him thinking he was so smart that he’d go off half-cocked and ruin something. Dad prided himself in doing a better job than any other place he knew of to maintain the fish tanks; it’s time-consuming work, and most places do the bare minimum. If JJ ruined something here, or killed fish, it would be my ass, not his. I said, “Let’s go one step at a time. And just so you know, the freshwater fish are less fussy about water temperature than the tropicals, but they all prefer as little change as possible.”
I cleaned tank eleven while he watched. I told him how important it was to avoid even a trace of soap, and how the cleaning tools we use are for glass. Acrylic tanks need different tools. At one point I asked him, “So, why this store and not a pet store? I mean, if it’s the animals that interest you.”
“This might sound strange, but you get to see more animals here. People don’t usually bring their own pets into a pet store, so the only animals I’d see would be the ones for sale. They’re often not in great health, and I can’t do anything about that yet.”
Good answers. I wondered if he had an answer for everything—it sure seemed like it so far—but I decided not to test things any further just yet.
We did tank twelve together, and JJ practically insisted on doing thirteen alone. It was nearly lunchtime, and I’d been thinking we’d break first. “You sure you wanna do that?” I asked him. “That’s an unlucky number for your first solo.”
He laughed. “Oh, I like the number thirteen. Maybe because so many other people don’t.”
I watched him like a hawk, and although I had to step in a couple of times, he did most everything exactly as I had. Partway through Dad showed up. He stood there a minute watching and then said, “Paul, you and JJ break for lunch after this one. And I need to talk to you in my office.”
I didn’t much like the tone of his voice. Had I done something wrong already? JJ and I finished up, and he didn’t need to be told that everything had to go back into the stockroom. I said, “Did you bring lunch?” He nodded. “There’s some picnic tables out back, if you want to eat outside.” He smiled at me and nodded again, and I headed toward the office.
Dad was alone in there, and he launched right in. “Paul, what do you think you’re doing, having JJ do a tank alone so soon? He could—”
“He got it, Dad. He was really sure of what he was doing, and he understood the process.”
Dad was opening his mouth, a scowl on his face, about to scold me some more, when JJ spoke up from behind me. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Landon. I shouldn’t have been so ambitious. It was my idea to do it on my own, not Paul’s. He tried to discourage me. If there’s a problem, it’s my fault.”
Dad stood there and blinked a few times. “Well. I guess we’ll know there’s a problem if the fish start going belly up.” He didn’t sound so fierce now, and for one eerie moment there it seemed almost like old times, with Chris talking Dad down off of whatever hill he’d climbed to throw stones at me. I snapped myself out of it by turning to look at JJ, confirming for myself that he wasn’
t anything like Chris.
Feeling irritated and not knowing why, I said, “I thought you’d gone to lunch.”
“Oh, sorry. I thought Mr. Landon wanted to talk to both of us. I’ll go now.” And he did.
“Anything else?” I asked Dad, probably sounding a little belligerent.
Dad’s jaw worked for a second or two. “We’d better not lose any of those fish. I’d like you to spot Alice on register three so she can have lunch now. You can go when she gets back. And tell JJ not to do any tanks without you. He can go back to cat food while you eat.”
Dad’s lunch was already on his desk. He ate in the office where he could keep an eye on the registers and watch how the cashiers treated customers. On one hand, I was pissed that I had to wait for lunch. On the other, it was a nice day, and I wanted to eat outside, but I wasn’t sure I wanted JJ thinking of me as his best buddy, so I didn’t want to set a lunch hour precedent and eat with him.
I sent Alice, who was probably fifteen and at least twice that many pounds overweight, to have lunch. It was fairly busy and I didn’t pay a lot of attention to the time, but Alice returned in just under half an hour, right on time. JJ was with her. They were laughing like best friends. I gave JJ his orders and left.
Close call, I thought as I grabbed the lunch Mom had packed for me. I might have had to sit with both of them if Dad had taken the register, which he sometimes does. I chose a table and sat with my back to the door. I was mostly done with lunch when I saw two figures coming around the side of the building. Marty and Kevin.
“Hey, Landon!” Marty called in hushed tones. “They let you outside to eat? Aren’t they afraid you’ll make a break for it?” He and Kevin cackled.
Kevin stole one of my store-bought cookies and sat down across from me. Beside him, Marty lit a cigarette. Wishing I could bum one but knowing I’d be dead if Dad caught me, I pulled my food closer to my side of the table out of Kevin’s reach. “What are you guys up to today? Dragging old ladies across the wrong intersections?”
Marty smiled expansively. “It’s such a gorgeous day, we thought we’d go skinny-dipping at the woods end of Parson’s Lake. Wanna come?”
“You know I would. Gotta stay here though, and you know that, too.”
“Grumpy, isn’t he?” Kevin asked Marty.
Marty made a face. “He’s always like this at work, aren’t you, Paul? Hey, here’s a thought.” He pointed with his cigarette to the side of the building, toward the garden hose that we kept wrapped around an old truck wheel, mounted on the wall, for cleaning the rodent cages, used dog kennels and cat carriers, that sort of thing. “How about if we just squirt you with that for a few minutes? You could even strip first!”
I decided against any reply to that ridiculousness, but I was ready to make a run for it if Marty showed signs of being serious. He didn’t. We sat there a few more minutes trading barbs and generally saying nothing in particular, and then Marty, who was facing the building, looked up. His expression was weird, so I turned to look over my shoulder. It was JJ. He’d seen Marty, too, and had stopped in his tracks, eyes locked on him.
“What is it?” I called to him.
He stayed where he was, even though he had to raise his voice a little from that distance, and his eyes moved to me. “Your father wanted us to finish today’s tank cleaning.” And he waited.
In the back of my mind it occurred to me that he didn’t say anything like “Your dad sent me to get you” or “Your dad says lunchtime is over and to get back to work.”
“Be right there.” I watched him turn and head back inside, and when I was facing the remains of my lunch again I saw Marty’s gaze was still on the door JJ had gone through. “What’s with you?” I asked.
His eyes snapped to mine. “Nothin’. Just wondering if it might be time for a little mollification.” He sucked on his cig as he gave me this significant look.
I turned again to look at the doorway—stupid, since there was nobody there—and back to Marty again. I knew he was referring to Anthony the math nerd and the time we’d made him tell us he was queer. “You’re crazy. You think every guy who isn’t like you is automatically a homo.”
He flicked some ash and said, “Am I wrong about this one? You sure?” His voice told me he was sure of his own assessment. “And can you afford to make a mistake here?”
I knew what he meant, but I didn’t want to admit it. Even from here you could tell that JJ had a sweet face, and he wasn’t very big. Dressed right, he could pass for a girl. All I said was, “What’s the worst that can happen?”
Marty inhaled on the cig, waited, exhaled at me, and said, “You don’t wanna go and get painted with that brush, kid.” And then laughed insanely. “Get it? You could get painted with the pink brush if you get painted with his brush!” and he jabbed with his cigarette toward the door JJ had gone through. Brush. Dagger. I knew what Marty was referring to. But I was still angry with myself for letting him talk me into our little escapade into the red-light district. Time to stand up to him, at least a little.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re a real comic, Kaufman. I don’t give a fuck whether the kid’s a fag or not, and if you try painting me with any brush we’ll have us a real conversation.”
Marty raised an eyebrow. “Ooh, Kevin, did you hear that? Have I struck a nerve in our pet store boy?”
Kevin grinned at me like he didn’t take Marty quite as seriously as I did. “I don’t think we have to worry about Landon.” He turned toward Marty. “After all, wasn’t he the only one who did that hooker last spring? Seems to me you got some proving to do yourself.”
Marty shoved Kevin sideways, nearly off the seat, and Kevin laughed.
I stood up, deciding not to give this conversation any more weight than it deserved. “I gotta get back in or my old man will have a shit fit. See you guys later.”
Despite what I’d said to Marty? About not caring if JJ was a fag? I cared. I cared a lot. And I was a little shocked that it hadn’t occurred to me. Now I was pretty sure Marty was right.
That afternoon, JJ and I worked on the last two tanks together so Dad wouldn’t have any excuses to criticize, both of us talking as little as possible, and I held my hands carefully away from JJ’s. Once they touched and I jerked back without really meaning to. I know he noticed, ’cause he froze for a second or two.
I had to talk more while I showed him how to change the filters on tanks one through five, but he said practically nothing. He caught on to the process just as fast as ever, but the brightness was gone. I couldn’t say whether I missed his voice because the contrast with the morning was so obvious or because I’d started to like him. I had to watch that, though, didn’t I? Wouldn’t do to get painted.
That night I lay awake a long time. There were so many similarities between how I was feeling now and how I’d felt about torturing Anthony. I hadn’t done anything to JJ, and neither had Marty, but the list of things that were alike was pretty impressive, anyway.
1. Anthony had been afraid of Marty even before we tortured him. It sure looked like JJ was afraid of him, too; he’d stayed as far away from my lunch table as he could. In fact, he’d seemed afraid even of me at first this morning; when he’d seen my sneaker he’d gone as still as a rabbit hoping a hawk wouldn’t see him.
2. It hadn’t been my idea to treat Anthony like that, and I hadn’t thought about JJ being gay. I guess I’ll never know if Marty was right about Anthony, but he’s sure painting both of them with the same “pink” brush.
3. Both Anthony and JJ are smart and aren’t afraid to show it, even if they are afraid of other things. That’s a kind of courage.
4. Just like Anthony hadn’t ever ratted on me, JJ didn’t embarrass me in front of Marty by making it sound like my dad was yelling at me for taking too long at lunch.
5. I don’t remember ever liking Anthony, but I sure didn’t like what Marty and I did to him. Chris’s reaction had certainly put the seal on my self-condemnation. If Marty tried to do something li
ke that to JJ I’d feel even worse. I wouldn’t need Chris around to make me feel like shit, but it would feel like he was watching anyway.
6. And now the sixty-four-million-dollar question. Had I gone along with Marty in torturing Anthony just so Marty wouldn’t terrorize me? And what would I do if he decided to terrorize JJ?
I had a nasty dream that night about this hideous skin disease. Chris was in the dream, and he had it, and every time I got near him it felt like some of it would show up on me, but I could never see it on myself.
JJ was there ahead of me again on Tuesday, even though I was a little early myself. He was helping Dad, who was up on a stool, stack the heavier bags of dry dog food in the stockroom.
“Paul, help JJ finish this lot. Then I want you both to man register four. Show JJ how to open it up. He already knows how to make change. I want him to work directly with customers today.”
“Got it.” I was taller than JJ, so when Dad got off the stool I got onto it. JJ didn’t speak, and neither did I. After a few minutes of doing my best to make my part, which was harder than his, look easy, I felt like a stupid little kid; JJ didn’t look like he was trying to prove anything.
Register four was the one closest to Dad’s office. I took JJ through the opening routines, and it seemed to me that he was being real careful, in that cramped space where we both had to stand, not to touch me anyplace. It made me feel kind of guilty about the way I’d reacted yesterday when our hands touched, and it made me start to like him again.
Liking him lasted only about forty-five minutes. He was doing fine ringing things up and making change, and he was friendly with the customers without being inefficient. And then Mrs. Soper was there with that mutt of hers that looks like it’s part wheaten terrier and part Chihuahua, it’s so funny looking, and as usual it was yapping and jumping and generally ignoring anything she said to it.
“Lulu, please! Let Mommy get her wallet out so she can pay for the things she’s bought for you.”
A Question of Manhood Page 16
