The interior of the Glass House was bright and hard. Dark wood block floor, some unfriendly furniture, huge panes of glass framed in black painted steel. The few kids in the kitchen were passing an inhaler around and watching a microwave fill up with popcorn.
“I’m hot.” Janet stuck the inhaler into her face and pressed. “Anybody want to swim? Tree?”
“Okay.” Tree breathed in a polite dose and breathed out a giggle. “You?” she asked me.
“I don’t think so.” I was too nervous: I kept expecting someone to jump out and throw a net over me. “I’ll watch.”
“I’d swim with you,” said Stennie, “but I promised Happy I’d bring her these party favors as soon as I arrived.” He nudged the box with his foot. “Can you wait a few minutes?”
“Comrade and I will take them over.” I grabbed the box and headed for the door, glad for the excuse to leave Tree behind while I went to find Montross. “Meet you at the pool.”
The golf cart was gone so we walked through the tube toward the sculpture gallery. “You have the picture?” I said.
Comrade patted the pocket of his window coat.
The tube was not air-conditioned and the afternoon sun pounded us through the optical plastic. There was no sound inside; even our footsteps were swallowed by the astroturf. The box got heavier. We passed the entrance to the old painting gallery, which looked like a bomb shelter. Finally I had to break the silence. “I feel strange, being here,” I said. “Not just because of the thing with Montross. I really think I lost myself last time I got stunted. Not sure who I am anymore, but I don’t think I belong with these kids.”
“People change, tovarisch,” said Comrade. “Even you.”
“Have I changed?”
He smiled. “Now that you’ve got a cush, your own mother wouldn’t recognize you.”
“You know what your problem is?” I grinned and bumped up against him on purpose. “You’re jealous of Tree.”
“Shouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I can’t tell if Tree likes who I was or who I might be. She’s changing, too. She’s so hot to break away from her parents, become part of this town. Except that what she’s headed for probably isn’t worth the trip. I feel like I should protect her, but that means guarding her from people like me, except I don’t think I’m Mom’s Mr. Boy anymore. Does that make sense?”
“Sure.” He gazed straight ahead but all the heads on his window coat were scoping me. “Maybe when you’re finished changing, you won’t need me.”
The thought had occurred to me. For years he had been the only one I could talk to but, as we closed on the gallery, I did not know what to say. I shook my head. “I just feel strange.”
And then we arrived. The sculpture gallery was designed for showoffs: short flights of steps and a series of stagy balconies descended around the white brick exterior walls to the central exhibition area. The space was open so you could chat with your little knot of friends and, at the same time, spy on everyone else. About thirty kids were eating pizza and crispex off paper plates. At the bottom of the stairs, as advertised, was a black upright piano. Piled beside it was the rest of the swag. A Boston rocker, a case of green Coke bottles, a Virgin Mary in half a blue bathtub, a huge conch shell, china and crystal and assorted smaller treasures, including a four-thousand-year-old ceramic hippo. There were real animals, too, in cages near the gun rack: a turkey, some stray dogs and cats, turtles, frogs, assorted rodents.
I was threading my way across the first balcony when I was stopped by the Japanese reporter, who was wearing microcam eyes.
“Excuse me, please,” he said, “I am Matsuo Shikibu and I will be recording this event today for Nippon Hoso Kyokai. Public telelink of Japan.” He smiled and bowed. When his head came up the red light between his lenses was on. “You are…?”
“Raskolnikov,” said Comrade, edging between me and the camera. “Rodeo Raskolnikov.” He took Shikibu’s hand and pumped it. “And my associate here, Mr. Peter Pan.” He turned as if to introduce me but we had long since choreographed this dodge. As I sidestepped past, he kept shielding me from the reporter with his body. “We’re friends of the bride,” Comrade said, “and we’re really excited to be making new friends in your country. Banzai, Nippon!”
I slipped by them and scooted downstairs. Happy was basking by the piano; she spotted me as I reached the middle landing.
“Mr. Boy!” It was not so much a greeting as an announcement. She was wearing a body mike and her voice boomed over the sound system. “You made it.”
The stream of conversation rippled momentarily, a few heads turned and then the party flowed on. Shikibu rushed to the edge of the upper balcony and caught me with a long shot.
I set the box on the Steinway. “Stennie brought this.”
She opened it eagerly. “Look everyone!” She held up a stack of square cardboard albums, about thirty centimeters on a side. There were pictures of musicians on the front, words on the back. “What are they?” she asked me.
“Phonograph records,” said the kid next to Happy. “It’s how they used to play music before digital.”
“Erroll Garner Soliloquy,” she read aloud. “What’s this? D-j-a-n-g-o Reinhardt and the American Jazz Giants. Sounds scary.” She giggled as she pawed quickly through the other albums. Handy, Ellington, Hawkins, Parker, three Armstrongs. One was Piano Rags By Scott Joplin. Stennie’s bent idea of a joke? Maybe the lizard was smarter than he looked. Happy pulled a black plastic record out of one sleeve and scratched a fingernail across little ridges. “Oh, a non-slip surface.”
The party had a limited attention span. When she realized she had lost her audience, she shut off the mike and put the box with the rest of the swag. “We have to start at four, no matter what. There’s so much stuff.” The kid who knew about records wormed into our conversation; Happy put her hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Boy, do you know my friend, Weldon?” she said. “He’s new.”
Montross grinned. “We met on Playroom.”
“Where is Stennie, anyway?” said Happy.
“Swimming,” I said. Montross appeared to be in his late teens. Bigger than me—everyone was bigger than me. He wore green shorts and a window shirt of surfers at Waimea. He looked like everybody; there was nothing about him to remember. I considered bashing the smirk off his face but it was a bad idea. If he was software he could not feel anything and I would probably break my hand on his temporary chassis. “Got to go. I promised Stennie I’d meet him back at the pool. Hey Weldon, want to tag along?”
“You come right back,” said Happy. “We’re starting at four. Tell everyone.”
* * *
We avoided the tube and cut across the lawn for privacy. Comrade handed Montross the envelope. He slid the photograph out and I had one last glimpse. This time the dead man left me cold. In fact, I was embarrassed. Although he kept a straight face, I knew what Montross was thinking about me. Maybe he was right. I wished he would put the picture away. He was not one of us; he could not understand. I wondered if Tree had come far enough yet to appreciate corpse porn.
“It’s the only copy,” Comrade said.
“All right.” Finally Montross crammed it into the pocket of his shorts.
“You tapped our files; you know it’s true.”
“So?”
“So enough!” I said. “You have what you wanted.”
“I’ve already explained.” Montross was being patient. “Getting this back doesn’t close the case. I have to take preventive measures.”
“Meaning you turn Comrade into a carrot.”
“Meaning I repair him. You’re the one who took him to the chop shop. Deregulated wiseguys are dangerous. Maybe not to you, but certainly to property and probably to other people. It’s a straightforward procedure. He’ll be fully functional afterward.”
“Plug your procedure, jack. We’re leaving.”
Both wiseguys stopped. “I thought you agreed,” said Montross.
�
�Let’s go, Comrade.” I grabbed his arm but he shook me off.
“Where?” he said.
“Anywhere! Just so I never have to listen to this again.” I pulled again, angry at Comrade for stalling. Your wiseguy is supposed to anticipate your needs, do whatever you want.
“But we haven’t even tried to…”
“Forget it then. I give up.” I pushed him toward Montross. “You want to chat, fine, go right ahead. Let him rip the top of your head off while you’re at it, but I’m not sticking around to watch.”
I checked the pool but Tree, Stennie, and Janet had already gone. I went through the Glass House and caught up with them in the tube to the sculpture gallery.
“Can I talk to you?” I put my arm around Tree’s waist, just like I had seen grownups do. “In private.” I could tell she was annoyed to be separated from Janet. “We’ll catch up.” I waved Stennie on. “See you over there.”
She waited until they were gone. “What?” Her hair, slick from swimming, left dark spots where it brushed her silver jaunts.
“I want to leave. We’ll call my mom’s car.” She did not look happy. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
“But we just got here. Give it a chance.”
“I’ve been to too many of these things.”
“Then you shouldn’t have come.”
Silence. I wanted to tell her about Montross—everything—but not here. Anyone could come along and the tube was so hot. I was desperate to get her away, so I lied. “Believe me, you’re not going to like this. I know.” I tugged at her waist. “Sometimes even I think smash parties are too much.”
“We’ve had this discussion before,” she said. “Obviously you weren’t listening. I don’t need you to decide for me whether I’m going to like something, Mr. Boy. I have two parents too many; I don’t need another.” She stepped away from me. “Hey, I’m sorry if you’re having a bad time. But do you really need to spoil it for me?” She turned and strode down the tube toward the gallery, her beautiful hair slapping against her back. I watched her go.
“But I’m in trouble,” I muttered to the empty tube—and then was disgusted with myself because I did not have the guts to say it to Tree. I was too scared she would not care. I stood there, sweating. For a moment the stink of doubt filled my nostrils. Then I followed her in. I could not abandon her to the extremists.
The gallery was jammed now; maybe a hundred kids swarmed across the balconies and down the stairs. Some perched along the edges, their feet scuffing the white brick. Happy had turned up the volume.
“… according to Guinness, was set at the University of Oklahoma in Norman, Oklahoma, in 2012. Three minutes and fourteen seconds.” The crowd rumbled in disbelief. “The challenge states each piece must be small enough to pass through a hole thirty centimeters in diameter.”
I worked my way to an opening beside a rubber tree. Happy posed on the keyboard of the piano. Freddy the Teddy and the gorilla brothers, Mike and Bubba, lined up beside her. “No mechanical tools are allowed.” She gestured at an armory of axes, sledgehammers, spikes, and crowbars laid out on the floor. A paper plate spun across the room. I could not see Tree.
“This piano is over two hundred years old,” Happy continued, “which means the white keys are ivory.” She plunked a note. “Dead elephants!” Everybody heaved a sympathetic awww. “The blacks are ebony, hacked from the rain forest.” Another note, less reaction. “It deserves to die.”
Applause. Comrade and I spotted each other at almost the same time. He and Montross stood toward the rear of the lower balcony. He gestured for me to come down; I ignored him.
“Do you boys have anything to say?” Happy said.
“Yeah.” Freddy hefted an ax. “Let’s make landfill.”
I ducked around the rubber tree and heard the crack of splitting wood, the iron groan of a piano frame yielding its last music. The spectators hooted approval. As I bumped past kids, searching for Tree, the instrument’s death cry made me think of taking a hammer to Montross. If fights broke out, no one would care if Comrade and I dragged him outside. I wanted to beat him until he shuddered and came unstrung and his works glinted in the thudding August light. It would make me feel extreme again. Crunch! Kids shrieked, “Go, go, go!” The party was lifting off and taking me with it.
“You are Mr. Boy Cage.” Abruptly Shikibu’s microcam eyes were in my face. “We know your famous mother.” He had to shout to be heard. “I have a question.”
“Go away.”
“Thirty seconds.” A girl’s voice boomed over the speakers.
“U.S. and Japan are very different, yes?” He pressed closer. “We honor ancestors, our past. You seem to hate so much.” He gestured at the gallery. “Why?”
“Maybe we’re spoiled.” I barged past him.
I saw Freddy swing a sledgehammer at the exposed frame. Clang! A chunk of twisted iron clattered across the brick floor, trailing broken strings. Happy scooped the mess up and shoved it through a thirty centimeter hole drilled in an upright sheet of particle board.
The timekeeper called out again. “One minute.” I had come far enough around the curve of the stairs to see her.
“Treemonisha!”
She glanced up, her face alight with pleasure, and waved. I was frightened for her. She was climbing into the same box I needed to break out of. So I rushed down the stairs to rescue her—little boy knight in shining armor—and ran right into Comrade’s arms.
“I’ve decided,” he said. “Mnye vcyaw ostoyeblo.”
“Great.” I had to get to Tree. “Later, okay?” When I tried to go by, he picked me up. I started thrashing. It was the first fight of the afternoon and I lost. He carried me over to Montross. The gallery was in an uproar.
“All set,” said Montross. “I’ll have to borrow him for a while. I’ll drop him off tonight at your mom. Then we’re done.”
“Done?” I kept trying to get free but Comrade crushed me against him.
“It’s what you want.” His body was so hard. “And what your mom wants.”
“Mom? She doesn’t even know.”
“She knows everything,” Comrade said. “She watches you constantly. What else does she have to do all day?” He let me go. “Remember you said I was sloppy getting the picture? I wasn’t; it was a clean operation. Only someone tipped Datasafe off.”
“But she promised. Besides that makes no…”
“Two minutes,” Tree called.
“… but he threatened me,” I said. “He was going to blow me up. Needle me in the mall.”
“We wouldn’t do that.” Montross spread his hands innocently. “It’s against the law.”
“Yeah? Well, then drop dead, jack.” I poked a finger at him. “Deal’s off.”
“No, it’s not,” said Comrade. “It’s too late. This isn’t about the picture anymore, Mr. Boy; it’s about you. You weren’t supposed to change but you did. Maybe they botched the last stunting, maybe it’s Treemonisha. Whatever, you’ve outgrown me, the way I am now. So I have to change, too, or else I’ll keep getting in your way.”
He always had everything under control; it made me crazy. He was too good at running my life. “You should have told me Mom turned you in.” Crash! I felt like the crowd was inside my head, screaming.
“You could’ve figured it out, if you wanted to. Besides, if I had said anything, your mom wouldn’t have bothered to be subtle. She would’ve squashed me. She still might, even though I’m being fixed. Only by then I won’t care. Rosproyebi tvayou mat!”
I heard Tree finishing the count. “… twelve, thirteen, fourteen!” No record today. Some kids began to boo, others laughed. “Time’s up, you losers!”
I glared at the two wiseguys. Montross was busy emulating sincerity. Comrade found a way to grin for me, the same smirk he always wore when he tortured the greeter. “It’s easier this way.”
Easier. My life was too plugging easy. I had never done anything important by myself. Not even grow up. I
wanted to smash something.
“Okay,” I said. “You asked for it.”
Comrade turned to Montross and they shook hands. I thought next they might clap one another on the shoulder and whistle as they strolled off into the sunset together. I felt like puking. “Have fun,” said Comrade. “Da svedanya.”
“Sure.” Betraying Comrade, my best friend, brought me both pain and pleasure at once—but not enough to satisfy the shrieking wildness within me. The party was just starting.
Happy stood beaming beside the ruins of the Steinway. Although nothing of what was left was more than half a meter tall, Freddy, Mike and Bubba had given up now that the challenge was lost. Kids were already surging down the stairs to claim their share of the swag. I went along with them.
“Don’t worry,” announced Happy. “Plenty for everyone. Come take what you like. Remember, guns and animals outside, if you want to hunt. The safeties won’t release unless you go through the door. Watch out for one another, people, we don’t want anyone shot.”
A bunch of kids were wrestling over the turkey cage; one of them staggered backwards and knocked into me. “Gobble, gobble,” she said. I shoved her back.
“Mr. Boy! Over here.” Tree, Stennie, and Janet were waiting on the far side of the gallery. As I crossed to them, Happy gave the sign and Stone Kinkaid hurled the four thousand year old ceramic hippo against the wall. It shattered. Everybody cheered. In the upper balconies, they were playing catch with a frog.
“You see who kept time?” said Janet.
“Didn’t need to see,” I said. “I could hear. They probably heard in Elkhart. So you like it, Tree?”
“It’s about what I expected: dumb but fun. I don’t think they…” The frog sailed from the top balcony and splatted at our feet. Its legs twitched and guts spilled from its open mouth. I watched Tree’s smile turn brittle. She seemed slightly embarrassed, as if she had just been told the price of something she could not afford.
The Year's Best SF 08 # 1990 Page 10
