by Sean Boling
Chapter Fifteen: Rodrigo
Rita was more sensitive than he was.
Her family traced their lineage to the Spanish ranchos, and when they were dating, she would perceive slights no matter whose family gathering they were attending. If it was her family, she would rail over how snobbish they were in their conviction that Rod was beneath their station. If it was his family, she would decry how boorish they were in cloaking their insecurity with crass remarks meant to make her blush. Rod would rarely notice until Rita took him through a detailed account of what happened at the party they had just left. Then he could start to see her point.
When they were married and started to attend corporate events as Rod made his way upstream, she would try to convince him that they were being racially profiled by the moneyed stiffs even as they drove up in the same type of car as his colleagues and tipped the valets just as much.
“I can see it in their eyes,” she once complained. “They imagine you in a big belt buckle and El Norteno shirt, and me in big hair and fake nails.”
He had a harder time being persuaded by her point of view when it came to the work world. She told him that was because he didn’t want it to be true. He needed to value the opinions of his business associates so that he could keep working his way up and keep chucking the opinions of his family or her family back in their self-righteous faces. Professional respect was the most important kind of respect to him.
So when she first became convinced that there was backlash building amongst the Live Oak parents over Artie’s suspension, Rod decided to take her suspicions seriously, as the LOCA folk were closer to being colleagues than they were family, and held power over his charitable legacy.
Rod and Rita assumed that most of the resentment, however much there was, revolved around their money. They still believed their wealth made Artie more of a target than a favorite, but they had to try and see the alternative, for they couldn’t undermine what they didn’t understand. Each agreed to imagine the stereotype that had developed about their relationship, and in turn Artie, and come up with ways to combat those projections.
They wanted to get their ideas aligned and lay out a plan before sharing it with Artie, who had a penchant for eavesdropping at their bedroom door. So they tried whispering in Rita’s walk-in closet, which felt silly, and talking in the master bathroom with the water running, which was a waste of water, so they decided on a quick lunch date at the Taco Bell off the freeway exit during a break between Rita’s art class commitments.
“Let’s start with the most obvious accusation,” she got the session started as they sat down with their trays full of wrapping paper, paper napkins, and paper cups. “He’s spoiled.”
“Not a lot we can do about that one,” Rod unwrapped his first item.
Rita kept her jaw from dropping, but all the stunned energy went into her eyes.
“We can stop,” she reminded him.
“That doesn’t do us any good.”
“Maybe it will do Artie some good.”
Rod hesitated and would have scratched his head if he wasn’t holding a crunchy taco.
“I thought the goal was to generate some good P.R.,” he said.
“Well, yes. But…”
“So how is anyone going to know we’ve stopped spoiling him? Do we make sure he complains out loud about us not buying him as many things as we used to? Whine to anybody who’ll listen? How does the message get out?”
Rita sucked on her straw before offering a reply.
“If we do the right things, then it will show. It will come across natural.”
Rod waved her off while swallowing his latest bite.
“We need to polish our image right away,” he said as soon as his mouth was empty. “Before whatever they’re thinking about us becomes cemented in their minds. That cement dries fast. We can worry about all the long-term goals you want once we get past this.”
Rita released her cup from an inch above the tray, letting it drop into place.
“Okay,” she increased the tension before releasing her sarcasm, “How about a special episode of his show, where he delivers all of the Legos he’s used to the Salvation Army. Or maybe right to the doors of some struggling families.”
In spite of her delivery, Rod was pleasantly surprised by the idea.
“Just one problem,” he said.
“Just one?”
“Aside from how quickly we could get it out there, and whether it would cross over into the kind of audience we need…”
“And if one of those struggling households is a meth lab and they answer the door with a shotgun…”
“It punishes Artie too much.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Getting shot is a bit much. And on camera. Oye.”
“I’m serious,” he leaned in. “It’s all about blaming the parents these days. Whenever a kid goes bad, it’s all eyes on the parents. Even when the story goes that he played too many violent video games, or listened to scary music, that only happened because the parents didn’t do their job. Your whole life is supposed to be wrapped up in your kids. God forbid you should have any other interests.”
“You’re starting to sound defensive, Rigo.”
“I know what people are thinking. They see you volunteering around school, but they see me throwing money at it. Then they hear about Artie. So they think he’s acting out because I’m not there for him. They say I buy him things because I’m always working. That’s what people who don’t have money like to tell themselves. They claim to be more loving, more caring, because that’s all they’ve got. It has to be one way or the other for them. There has to be a sacrifice, they say, you have to choose, your kids or your career. They don’t want to admit you can have it all.”
Rita seemed to think there was more to come. He felt like taking a bow to signal he had said his piece, but took another bite instead.
“So what’s your plan?” she asked.
He grunted and raised a finger to let her know he meant to follow through on that part, then skipped a lot of chewing to get down to it.
“Yard duty,” he announced.
“You?”
“Of course me. I’ll show them who’s there for their kid.”
“What about work?”
“I’ll tell them I need do some work from home to spend more time with my son,” he took a sip to help lubricate the mouthful he had rushed. “They’ll think it’s beautiful. Business is all mobile now, anyway. We barely need the office space. It’s for meetings and to impress clients, like a stage.”
He went into greater detail about how he could bring his work with him and pick at it during the breaks between each recess, and how he could serve as the new destination for Artie when he was ejected from the classroom, rather than Dale’s office.
Dale was just as enthusiastic about the plan when Rod ran it by him, and went so far as to say that the new procedure would likely cut down on the number of times Artie was asked to leave in the first place. Rod would set up camp at one of the picnic benches near the main building and serve as a sort of lieutenant.
As they concluded their meeting with the most agreeable handshake they had fastened in weeks, Dale said out loud what Rod was feeling, that they were back in business.
“Just do me a favor,” Rod said as Dale made a move to get the door for him.
“What’s that?” Dale asked, trying to balance a smile on top of the hesitation that the word ‘favor’ doused over him.
Rod chuckled at his reaction before putting him at ease.
“No announcements about this, no big deal,” he put a hand on Dale’s shoulder. “I’m just a parent helping out.”
Dale breathed easier and gave him his word as he opened the door.
Rod exchanged as pleasant a goodbye with Dale as he did with Wendy on his way past her desk. She seemed to have overcome the resentment that colored their last encounter, or at least had groomed her ability to cover it.
The same could not be sa
id for the other adults on campus the first day he reported for duty. Any doubts he may have had regarding his wife’s assessment of the reigning attitude toward him and his family were squelched upon arrival. He had not been on site since the suspension ended, and he hadn’t received so many dirty looks attempting to masquerade as blank stares since he used to stop by the grocery store in his filthy flannel shirt and jeans after getting off work from the fields.
The kids didn’t express any hostility. They hardly noticed he was there. But Artie stuck by his side while the students played out their last few minutes before the first whistle. Rod wondered if his son had noticed the glances and was standing with him out of solidarity, or if Artie was in exile due to what had happened.
“You can go hang out,” Rod encouraged him.
“I’m okay,” Artie said.
They stood there together in the swarm of colored polo shirts, silently searching for safe places to rest their eyes amidst the vigorous screams, rubber balls splatting against pavement, and arguments over who was winning. Rod couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so much like crying. Maybe out of happiness when Artie was born. If his son was taking some heat, he hoped he could take it for him by being there.
The whistle blew and the khaki stampede sprinted around them into the showroom. Rod was grateful for the wind that the herd generated as they sped past. It made him laugh and dried his eyes. Once everyone was inside, Artie tugged his Dad over for a kiss and walked in to join them.
Dale held up his end of the deal by making the morning announcements without a word in Rod’s direction. Rod kept to the back of the room, which made it even easier to notice the heads turning to sneak a glare at him, from both volunteers and faculty.
The picnic bench he had in mind was available, on the route between the upper cluster and the main building. The rest of the volunteers were inside, either helping out in a classroom, or avoiding him by staying in the showroom or the garage. He laid out his work and pretended to do it. A text from Rita was the only task that engaged him. She let him know she was on her way and would like some help carrying in a box of supplies. He went around the side of the building when he heard her car pull in.
“You weren’t kidding,” Rod said as he met her in the parking lot.
“Stay cool,” she reminded him, handing over the box.
On their way to the front door, they passed the mounted plaque commemorating all that he had done to establish the campus. Rod breathed deeply and stuck to their agreement that they wouldn’t acknowledge the situation while on the premises.
He had no such agreement with Dale, however, who approached him after the morning recess and the two dozen nasty looks that came with it. Rod stayed seated at the picnic table to help him remain calm.
“Hey there, partner,” Dale greeted him. “I know you’ve got work to do, but would you be up for helping me out with some P.E. classes today?”
Rod barely heard him.
“What the hell is going on here, Dale?”
“What do you mean?”
“Cut the crap.”
Dale exhaled.
“I don’t know for sure.”
“Well what do you suspect is happening?”
“I did nothing to breech confidentiality. I told no one about the incident or the suspension.”
“But somebody did.”
“That seems to be the case.”
“Was it Wendy?”
“I would vouch for Wendy’s ethics over mine.”
“Then who is it?”
Dale hesitated.
Rod got off the bench and stood squarely in front of him.
“Who is doing this, Dale? How do all these people know?”
“I have my suspicions.”
“Is it one of the girls involved?”
“No.”
“Their parents?”
“One of the parents.”
“Which one?”
“And what if I tell you, Rod? What would you do with that information?”
Rod hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“This bothers me, too,” Dale said. “Maybe even more than you.”
“I doubt that.”
“Do you know what we are without you?” Dale was straining to keep his composure. “We are a small school. A small school in the middle of nowhere. And nobody gives a shit about small schools in the middle of nowhere.”
They faced each other for an eternal few seconds before Dale spoke up.
“You’ve got a good plan. Stick with it. Let me handle the rest.”
Rod nodded and sat down. He stared at the work in front of him and wondered if he would ever be in the mood to get it done. Dale left him with one more thought.
“Rise above them and they’ll remember who you are.”
Rod listened to Dale walk away and continued to look down at the tabletop, consumed by one more thought of his own.
He shouldn’t have to remind them. They wouldn’t be there without him. The grounds from which they gave him dirty looks were his creation. And if they insisted on hating him, they should thank him for the opportunity to do so.
