Of course, Andronicus had to leave immediately afterwards; she understood what a busy young man he must be with such a wealthy father. “If only Inny could fall for someone like Andronicus,” she mused. She knew her daughter was difficult, and she hoped she could make up for the rejection Andronicus must have suffered at her hands.
Meanwhile, at the bowling pin manufacturing company, her husband stared at a blueprint for the machine that would clear the fallen bowling pins and set up ten new ones. It looked like a foreign language to him. His thoughts began to drift back to the destroyer in the Pacific Ocean when he was young and captain of the ship.
‘Aft to the main deck!’
He turned his head with a gleeful smile, which met his boss’ deep frown.
“Craig, how is your blueprint coming along?” Mr. Johnson shook his head and smiled.
“It’s full steam ahead,” he said.
“Where is the device that will replace the fallen pins with new ones?”
Mr. Johnson looked into his supervisor’s scowling face. He flinched. “I don’t know… I’m having a hard time with that one, Mr. Jones.” Craig bowed his head, waiting for the inevitable.
“Perhaps it would help if you took a day or two off to think about it,” said Mr. Jones, feeling sorry for the lost soul, who so humbly lowered his head for the blow. Mr. Jones was a nice man.
“Perhaps it would,” said Mr. Johnson. He gathered his stylus, pencils, and drawing materials and put them in a zipper bag. “I often come up with my best ideas while sitting in the garden.”
“I’m sure you do,” said the supervisor, rolling his eyes and wondering where he could find another engineer, if necessary.
Mr. Johnson left early, driving home slowly, wondering what he’d say to his wife. To his surprise, there was a red Ferrari parked in their semi-circular driveway.
Mrs. Johnson opened the front door to find her husband staring at her and Andronicus. They had sprung apart from a passionate embrace on the living room sofa.
“Oh! Craig!” she blanched. “You remember Andronicus, don’t you? The nice young man who took Inny to the Coral Casino?”
Mr. Johnson never paid much attention to his eldest daughter’s beaux; he just wished she’d hurry up and marry. He couldn’t afford her last year at Berkeley. He stuck his hand out and shook Andronicus.’ “Oh, yes. How nice of you to visit. Inny’s at Berkeley until June.” He didn’t remember Andronicus. The night she’d knocked on their bedroom door to tell them about Andronicus, only Iris had woken up. Mr. Johnson slept through it and his wife didn’t mention it.
“Oh, yes, your wife just told me,” stammered Andronicus, astonished at Mr. Johnson’s ineptitude. Didn’t he know about that night in Montecito?
“Since she’s not here, I’ll be going. Nice to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.” Andronicus smiled his most ingratiating smile. His flabby face puckered like a fat pumpkin.
The Johnsons smiled back. Mrs. Johnson sucked in her breath; this had been a close call. Mr. Johnson was racking his brain for an excuse for coming home early from work.
Andronicus closed the front door behind him fast as the Johnsons went out onto the patio to mull things over. He wasn’t going to take chances like that again.
Just then, their younger daughter opened the passenger door of her best friend Joanie’s car. She jumped out, waving goodbye to her friend, a fluff of long blonde hair and skinny legs in a sweater set that showed off her young figure. She started to run to the front door, when she saw Andronicus leaving.
“Oh!”
“Hello!” he said, appraising her with approval. “I was just leaving.”
“I see. Well, goodbye!” She held her school books to her chest tightly and ran into the house.
I’ll fuck her little sister if it’s the last thing I do, he thought to himself. She’s not so bad.
He pulled into his state senator stepfather’s semi-circular driveway, in the heart of Montecito, skidding to a halt. He got out of the car and ran into their stately Tudor-style manor just as his mother was leaving.
“Whatever is the matter, Andronicus darling?” she asked as she adjusted her large purse, which was slung over her shoulder.
“Nothing, Mom, nothing.” He ran to his bedroom to sulk for a while.
His mother watched him go and shook her head. After all I’ve done for him, he all but ignores me.
The atmosphere in the Johnsons’ living room had turned thick with acrimony. Mr. Johnson had come home early from work.
“I… I just don’t understand bowling alley mathematics,” he had said haltingly to his wife, who looked more beautiful than ever to him, with her dark red lipstick on her perfect bow-ribbon lips and satiny skin. He wanted to die. “They told me to take some time off to think of more creative ideas this afternoon.”
“Craig! What are we going to do?” Mrs. Johnson put her hands on her face.
“I’ll find another job. You can always count on me, Iris. You know that.” His whimsical little-boy face turned away and his lip tightened. He’d do anything for his family.
“If you could have just made Captain!” she lashed out, hitting him with his biggest failure, one he’d never recovered from.
“Iris! It was just the…” He felt tears welling up in his eyes. It was too much for him. And what was she doing with that young man in their living room? It was their house; he’d paid for it. His head began to whirl. Mr. Johnson slumped over his wife in a dead faint.
“Craig! Craig! Wake up!” She shook him as hard as she could. Then, she moved away from him in disgust. Why didn’t I marry someone with real money? she asked herself. Then, she remembered Pearl Harbor and how World War II had swept them into each other’s arm after a prolonged courtship. They’d married, and she’d become pregnant with Inny. That was the beginning of my woes. She looked out the door-to-ceiling glass sliding door that led to their patio, surrounded by lush ferns and flowers. Then, she looked down at her husband, who had started to come to. A look of revulsion came over her normally lovely face.
Craig and Iris Johnson slept fitfully that night. He left before she woke up. He had resolved to find a new job.
Mrs. Johnson woke to an empty bedroom. She got up and scrambled some eggs for her younger daughter and herself. Brenda left for school in a hurry with a quick “Bye Mother.” Mrs. Johnson stared at the beautiful wisteria outside the kitchen window as she did the breakfast dishes. Her younger daughter had gotten a ride to Santa Barbara High School, and she had no plans for the day other than buying some cheap hamburgers for dinner. She wondered what would happen if they ran out of money. Little did she know that her husband, who had dressed for work, was parked downtown, looking through the want ads. He had been fired from the AFM, the bowling alley manufacturing company, for failing to come up with any new ideas. He was going through one of the darkest periods of his life and was terrified.
The phone rang. Mrs. Johnson picked it up. “Hello?”
“Hi, Iris. This is Andronicus.”
“How nice of you to call. I have nothing to do this afternoon.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Andronicus realized that she hadn’t read the news yet.
“Why don’t we meet for lunch at the ranch?”
She knew he was referring to his father’s San Ysidro Ranch, where John and Jackie Kennedy had spent their honeymoon. Her heart beat faster just thinking of the romance.
“I’d love to have lunch with you there!”
“I’m busy with some of Dad’s clients this morning,” he lied.
“Yes, of course. 12 noon?”
“It’s a date.”
She hung up the phone and ran to the bedroom to look in her closet. Once there, she could only find a dress she’d bought several years ago, which was a bit tight on her. She took a deep breath and put it on. “Why didn’t I marry someone like Andronicus?” she asked herself aloud. “Someone with real money. Not just an engineer.” She remembered how Andronicus had ment
ioned something about money. Well, we certainly need it now, if we ever did, she thought, pinching her cheeks to give her face a more alluring color.
She frowned at herself in the mirror. Then, she smiled, turned around to make sure her slip wasn’t showing, and pinched her cheeks again, which were still as firm as a young woman’s. “Thank God my looks are holding up.” She heaved a sigh and looked at the clock. It was only 11. She decided to look at the morning paper before leaving to meet Andronicus.
Andronicus looked out over the Pacific Ocean from his stepfather’s sun deck. They had a vast estate, yet Andronicus hadn’t been able to attract a suitable wife. The ones he liked didn’t like him. Especially that wretched president of the Theta house, who was taking him to court for rape. What a nerve she has, he thought. If only they were all as easy as Mrs. Johnson. Of course, she’s much too old and married… he mused. But she’s useful, and she doesn’t look her age. He thought of her satiny skin and curvaceous body. He winced with pleasure as his penis hardened.
Andronicus stretched and put a lazy leg onto the wooden deck of his stepfather’s magnificent terrace. He got up and walked into the living room, where a picture of his stepfather’s biological son caught his eye. Handsome and popular, he had a hard time competing with Jack, especially as he was going to graduate from Princeton, soon, while Andronicus was flunking out of Amherst. Jack had also just announced his engagement to a stunner, a winsome and brainy beauty from Vassar. An original oil by Vuillard caught his eye as he walked towards the billiard room with a growing sense of purpose. To his relief, no one was in it or even home when he entered the room. He remembered when he’d played strip poker with his buddies and Inny. The cunt lost, he thought with mounting irritation. The door to his stepfather’s vault was ajar. Andronicus halted in front of it.
I’ll fix her if it’s the last thing I do. He turned the lock back and forth with the expertise of someone who knew the vault combination well, opened the vault door, quickly unlocked a strong box with precision that came from habit, and took a few hundred dollars out. They’ll never even notice it’s gone. They never do.
Andronicus smirked at a picture of his illustrious stepfather hanging on the opposite wall, next to some golfing trophies. He’s not my real father anyway. The bitch married this one for his money.
Chapter 12
Sally and I walked slowly back to our studio on Parker Way, four blocks from the U.C. Berkeley’s beautiful wrought-iron Sather Gate. It stood out like an icon in the setting sun.
“What a close call,” I mumbled to Sally, her bangs covering the hangdog expression on her face. A stray cat jumped out of nowhere and she screamed. Her nerves were shot.
“Why are you so jumpy?” I looked at Sally.
“He’s going to pay for the abortion,” she said.
“So you’ll sleep with him and get pregnant again?”
She hung her head. Then, she slowly raised her eyes to mine. “Inny, will you go with me?”
“What?”
“I’m afraid to fly. Please come with me. Jerry will pay for your fare.”
“Jesus, Sally!”
“It’s in Tijuana. I’m so scared.”
My mind darted back and forth between leaving her to her just deserts and helping her out of her mess. She was a friend, though she’d hid in the bathroom when Crutches and Ira nearly raped and killed me. I was torn.
We reached the brick path to our studio apartment. As I unlocked the door to ours, a voice rang out. “Bubbly time!” Albert’s voice wafted down the stairs. I heard a champagne cork pop.
“Korbel?” I replied with my best Johnson lilt.
“Whatever pleases my love,” he exuded.
“Please come with me to Tijuana,” Sally muttered through her matted hair.
I gave her a look of contrition mixed with contempt. Then, I ran upstairs to the clarion call of ‘bubbly.’
I took the steps three at a time and arrived panting, avidly in need of a good time, which I knew Albert would provide.
Albert laughed when he saw me and poured me a glass of champagne. We clicked glasses and laughed. “Where have you been? Last night was terrible.”
“Sally and Jerry are at it again; I tried to talk some sense into her, but she’s worse off than ever. He’s going to make it though. He’ll live to hit her again.”
Albert looked at me with twinkling eyes. He was dressed in a dapper plaid button-down shirt and tan slacks. I was wearing a shirt dress I’d made from some fabric I bought at a store. It had bright yellow sunflowers and stood out from the basic beige sweater and skirts most of the other girls wore to class.
He drank some bubbly. “Is she pregnant?”
“How did you guess?”
“When young ladies live with inconsiderate men, that’s often the result. What’s she going to do?” We drank some more bubbly. He refilled my glass. My spirits lifted. Albert would make this all seem like a bad dream.
“She’s going to fly to TJ to get an abortion.”
“Good.”
“And I’m going with her.”
Albert’s frowned. He stopped drinking the bubbly. “Why you?”
“She asked me to go because she’s scared.”
“Of getting an abortion?”
“No, of flying.”
His eyes widened in surprise. We both started laughing, laughing harder than I can remember laughing. It was beyond absurd.
“Of course, you told her you wouldn’t go?” Albert gave me a professorial stare.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Inny!”
“I’d like to see Mexico.”
“This is not a pleasure cruise.”
“I know; I know. I’d be crazy to go. She’s a total coward and has shown no signs of changing. I’d be crazy to go with her, but I’ve been trying to help her since our freshman year.”
We clicked champagne glasses. Albert kissed me lightly on the lips. I kissed him back. “That’s why I’m going.” I giggled.
Albert stared at me as if I’d dropped Sather Gate on his foot.
“Mary Jane had to have one there. She said it was easy.”
“Things can go wrong. Besides, I don’t like the idea of you going to a foreign country alone.” Albert turned his aquiline nose towards the window overlooking our fern-rimmed garden. I admired his handsome profile. “I’m coming with you,” he said.
“Really?” It was my turn to stare at him. Then I grinned. “This is not a pleasure cruise, you know. No lavender wigs allowed.”
We burst out laughing and wrapped our arms around each other. I could think of nothing more romantic than Albert accompanying me and Sally to Tijuana to get an abortion. Everything about Albert spelled romance, delight, and integrity. He was everything I admired. He would always have my back.
We drank bubbly until it all made sense. I put my arms around Albert and felt his hard, smooth chest. Nothing else mattered. Albert and I wandered down the stairs to my studio and he helped me cook some trout with gourmet potatoes au gratin he’d made the night before. After a sumptuous repast, we wandered back to his studio, holding hands. I spent the night in his studio. Having his arms around me made me feel more secure after that bullet passed under my arm and hit Jerry. It could’ve been me.
Chapter 13
I awoke from a sound night’s sleep in Albert’s ample double bed to hear footsteps on the stairway that led to his studio. There was a knock on the door. We woke and mumbled in our half-sleep as I fumbled for my clothes, an unnecessary effort, as it turned out to be Sally.
“Jerry’s given me the money,” she announced.
I stared at her.
“Money? Money for what?” asked Albert.
I turned and walked over to the bed where he lay with the covers drawn up to his neck. He looked so comical that I almost laughed.
“For my, um, for my trip to Tijuana,” mumbled Sally.
I stared at her, then at him.
“You’re asking a lot of Inny, you
know.”
“She’s my friend.” Sally looked at us as if she needed someone to throw her a life preserver.
“Lucky for you, it’s almost Christmas break.” I turned and looked at Albert.
“Lucky for you that you have a friend as kind-hearted as Inny,” he said. “How is Jerry?”
“He’s going to recover.”
A wry look passed over Albert’s usually serene face.
She seemed numb, unable to process what she was asking us to do or what she was going to go through.
“Albert says he’d like to accompany us,” I said.
“To TJ?”
“No, to Paris.” I couldn’t help my sarcastic remark. Sally drove me wild sometimes. It was almost like I was her big sister, trying to help her take charge of her life.
Sally looked down at Albert’s Moroccan rug with its natural dyes and rich hues of pale orange and yellows. I’d hurt her feelings.
“I’m sorry.” I felt a surge of sympathy for her hapless situation. Who would want to have Jerry’s baby? The guy’s a psycho.
“Um, could we wait a week until Christmas break? I have a bunch of exams to take.”
“I guess so.”
Albert and I exchanged doleful looks. Then, he stood up and, all charm, offered her a cup of coffee. The atmosphere changed palpably. Sally was smiling by the time we sat down to coffee on Albert’s lovely antique wooden kitchen table.
Still on the critical list at the hospital, Jerry conversed with us about the additional passenger by phone. We got him to agree by offering to bring back some Tequila. Just what this man-beast needs, I thought while looking down into the fern-filled garden in front of our studios. It looked so green, so peaceful. I couldn’t help but resent Sally’s unwanted pregnancy.
I trundled downstairs, sat in the old wooden chair in front of my Formica kitchen table, and opened my Skinner’s rat psychology book. I tried to memorize as I read, taking careful notes in my notebook. “The Skinner jumping stand experiment proved…”
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