THE PICASSO PROJECT

by Carol Anne Shaw

  "Well, thank you, Eddie."

  "Think you'll ever get married again?"

  Cora throws back her head and laughs. "Married? At my age? Good heavens, I'm well into my sixties!"

  "Didn't know there was an age limit," Eddie says. "Sounds to me like you're just chicken."

  "Oh, shooo!" Cora says, flapping a dishtowel at Eddie. "You get outa here now!"

  Eddie opens the door to the hall while humming an off-key rendition of "Here Comes the Bride."

  By the time he gets to the end of the hallway, he can hear Cora whistling the same tune.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  The last week of the school year is a joke. It's always the same. Teachers are burned out. Kids are burned out. Everybody is just taking up space and waiting for that final bell.

  Today, Eddie watches two DVD's before lunch: Star Wars (the original; it never gets old) and some romantic comedy with Meg Ryan in it. His other three classes are "free reading" blocks, which means students can do anything they want as long as they stay in the classroom. Teachers sit at their desks, supposedly writing report cards, but more likely, they just watch lame YouTube cat videos.

  That's fine with Eddie. He pulls a notebook out of his backpack and begins a new drawing . He still can't find his old sketchbook and it isn't like him to permanently lose his stuff, especially his artwork. Some of those Picasso-inspired drawings weren't half bad, either. And those journal entries went back to before his mother got taken away.

  But it's probably for the best; some of his writing was pretty raw and angry. Maybe the time has come to let that stuff go. Still, he would have liked to of kept it, at least for a while. That book saved his ass on many a dark night.

  When the bell goes, Eddie packs up his work—not bad, a cubist sketch of Jasmine and Maya sharing an orange—and leaves the classroom. Sean and a couple of guys from the rugby team are in the hallway, but when they see Eddie they quickly walk away in the opposite direction. Hah, Eddie thinks. The minions are pretty pathetic without their leader around to call the shots. No big surprise there. He thinks about going after them, thinks it would be satisfying to get the last word, but decides against it. They aren't worth his time

  Frank, on the other hand, is.

  He pushes through the door and heads for the bus.

  ***

  Primrose Street is a narrow shady road that snakes through the woods behind Bridgeman Village—more of a lane, really, and despite its name, there isn't a primrose in sight.

  Eddie steps off the bus and walks along the gravel shoulder, looking for number 26. He finds the house when he's almost at the end of the lane; a small war-era bungalow with a green and white striped awning over the main window and faded red front steps.

  He sees Rex behind the fence, but after one bark, the tail wagging starts.

  "Hey, buddy!" Eddie sticks his hand through the fence and scratches the shepherd's grey muzzle. "How you doing, old man?"

  The dog runs up and down the length of the little front yard, barking excitedly until Frank appears at the side of the house, a wrench in one hand.

  "Shut up, ya fool dog!" he says, but Eddie can tell he doesn't really mean it. He's crazy about Rex. He'd walk through fire for that old dog.

  "Hey, Frank."

  "Eddie. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Frank grabs Rex's collar and waves Eddie inside the gate. "Latch it behind you, will you? Can't trust Rex here to stay put. He's got a bit of a thing for Pansy, the collie down the road. Pansy. What kind of a name is that for a dog, eh?" He scratches his head and slaps Eddie on the back. "Good to see you, Ed."

  "You, too," Eddie says.

  "You want a drink or something? Got some iced tea in the fridge. Real lemons in it. Cora makes it up when she comes over. Says I oughta drink more iced tea and less beer. No fun, that woman."

  "Iced tea would be nice, Frank. Thanks."

  They take their drinks out to the back yard where the big airstream is parked. There's some primer on the back end of it, and the tires are bald, but the work to be done on it is mostly cosmetic, Frank tells Eddie.

  "That thing is awesome," Eddie says. "You actually gonna hit the road?"

  "That's the plan, me n' Cora and old Rex. We're going to head to Colorado first, then Arizona. That dry air is good for my arthritis, and Cora likes the heat." Frank pats the side of the airstream and smiles. His face looks relaxed; it isn't the face that Eddie thought he would see—it's not the face of a man who has just lost his job.

  "I'm sorry I got you fired, Frank," Eddie blurts. "If I'd known you stood to lose your job, I would never—"

  Frank cuts him off. "Never you mind about it, Ed. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. You and Maya were in a tight spot. I knew that. Been there myself when I wasn't much older than you are now. Just paying it forward, is all."

  "But you're so close to retirement. You only had a couple years to go, right?"

  "Pffffft! Think I want to stick around for a gold watch I won't get? Nahhh. I've been meaning to get this hunk of metal on the road for years. This whole thing just gave me the push I needed. It's all good."

  "But—"

  "Forget about it. They already hired a new guy. It wasn't like I was irreplaceable."

  "What's his name?"

  "Who? The new guy? No idea. He got a pretty nice schtick, though, starting a week before school's out, wouldn't you say? Hey, come on in and check out Old Nan?" Frank opens the door and points. "After you."

  The inside of the airstream is bigger than it appears on the outside and is squeaky clean. There is a dusky rose rug, a pinkish couch and two chairs, each printed with a willow tree pattern.

  'Not crazy about pink, but Cora wanted them. Besides, they're just for sittin' on. Colour doesn't matter, right?"

  "Right."

  Frank runs his hand over the dark wood cupboards in the kitchen, all with shiny gold handles.

  "Not real wood," Frank says. "Just veneer."

  "This place is awesome, Frank! Really."

  "It is, isn't it?"

  "I could totally live in this."

  "Speaking of living accommodation, how're you and Maya doing? You fixed up okay?"

  "We're okay for now," Eddie says. "And in a few days, I'll be a bona fide high school graduate."

  "You got plans?"

  "We're getting out of Dodge," Eddie says. "Not sure what'll happen after that."

  "You got a girl?"

  "Maybe."

  "You love her?"

  The question catches Eddie off guard for a moment, but then he says, "Yeah. I'm pretty sure I do."

  "That's good," Frank says, knocking Eddie on the shoulder. "Nothing better than the love of a good woman to sort you out."

  "Wise words, old man," Eddie chides.

  They talk about nothing for another half an hour; car parts and the rising cost of gas and places on the map that Frank and Cora hope to visit. This feels good, Eddie thinks, this sitting on the front step having a glass of iced tea with Frank Podborski. And right at that moment, Eddie vows he'll never take stuff like sitting on a front step drinking iced tea with a friend on a hot summer afternoon for granted.

  "So," he says finally, setting his glass down and standing up. "I don't want to keep you from Old Nan. I guess I'd better go."

  Frank stands up too, grunting a little because of his bad hip. "Glad you stopped by, Eddie. Decent of you."

  "I wanted to say thank you. You know, in person."

  "No need, but I appreciate it just the same."

  They shake hands, and Eddie gives Rex a final scratch behind the old dog's ears. This will probably be the last time he sees the grizzled mutt, and he knows that his friendship with Rex has been as real as any. He's going to miss him.

  "You take care, Eddie."

  "You, too, Frank."

  "Oh, and one more thing," Frank says when Eddie opens the gate.

  "What's that?"

  "Congratulations on getting through, kid."

  "You mean school?"


  "Sure. That, too."

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  JOURNAL ENTRY (June)

  "We don't grow older, we grow riper." - Pablo Picasso

  ripe [rahyp]

  adjective, riper, ripest.

  to have arrived at the highest or a high point of development or excellence; mature.

  When you read the definition, the quote takes on a whole new meaning.

  The reason I chose this one is because of my conversation with Frank. Frank is entering his twilight years, as the saying goes, but that guy has got it all dialed. Talk about knowing his shit. He's not bitching about the injustices of the world the way I do; nope, he's taking it all in stride and he's heading out into the great unknown. He's got a wonderful lady, a great dog, an airstream trailer and the open road.

  If you want to know the truth, I think Frank Podborski might be the wisest dude I know.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  The next morning Eddie sits in his history class doodling on the cover of his binder. Half the class is missing, but Mrs. Schmidt doesn't care; all the work and exams are done.

  After ten minutes, he gets up to use the washroom. He figures he'll take his time; maybe make a pit stop and see if Cora has any day-old muffins she wants to get rid of. She's pretty amazing that way.

  Eddie ducks in behind some lockers for a drink at the water fountain. He can hear footsteps coming down the hallway up ahead and looks around the end locker to see a man shuffling toward him. He's not very tall, a little squat. Balding. He twists a ring of keys on his forefinger and whistles a tuneless melody.

  It's him again, Eddie thinks, narrowing his eyes; the guy he spotted from Redman's office—the new custodian.

  And then Eddie's blood runs cold. He ducks his head back behind the row of lockers and steals another glance to make sure. Because he has to know. He watches as the man looks furtively in both directions before entering the girls' washroom.

  Eddie's heart thumps in his chest so hard that he places a palm in its centre in an effort to slow it down.

  It's him.

  Randall.

  Eddie's hands get clammy, but when he spots Georgia Baines headed for the bathroom, he pulls himself together.

  "Georgia!" he hisses.

  She stops, spots him, and shrugs. "What?"

  Psssst! C'mere!"

  "Why?"

  "Just come over here!"

  When she reaches him, he pulls her behind the lockers and tells her to be quiet.

  "What's going on? Why are you—?"

  "Just wait. I'll explain in a sec."

  The two of them stand side-by-side for what seems like forever until the door to the girl's washroom opens and Randall slips out. He nervously checks the hallway in both directions again, then walks quickly off down the hall, shoes clack-clacking on the floor.

  When he's rounded the corner, Georgia shoves Eddie. "Okay. What's going on? And why was that dude in our bathroom?"

  "That's the new custodian," Eddie tells her. "He just started this week."

  "Well, he obviously didn't read the rulebook. The custodian isn't supposed to enter the girl's washroom until after 3 pm. Everyone knows that."

  "I know," Eddie says. "That guy is a total creep."

  "You know him?"

  "No," Eddie hesitates. "I mean. I know of him. He's bad news. A total loser."

  "Why?"

  But Eddie is already across the hall. "Cover me!" He pushes the door of the bathroom open and steps inside.

  "But, you can't..."

  "Just don't let anyone in, okay? I just need a couple of minutes."

  The door shuts behind him and he looks up at the ceiling, then over to the row of mirrors over the sinks. Nothing seems out of place. Everything looks the way a school bathroom is supposed to look, not that Eddie makes it a habit to frequent women's washrooms. Paper towel dispenser, two garbage cans at either end of the counter, feminine products dispenser and four-bathroom stalls.

  There is a footprint in front of one of them—the second one from the left, and the door is slightly ajar.

  Eddie flings the door wide open and checks the space. Nothing. Then he does the same to the other three stalls. He checks the back of each door. Graffiti—lots of it—is scratched over all four of them. Mostly inspirational quotes, which Eddie finds amusing; in the guy's washroom, it's mostly just badly drawn pictures of dicks.

  But there's other stuff besides the feel-good stuff; one of the doors says some pretty shitty things about Maya, even though someone has tried to cover the words with a red marker.

  That's when he sees a white hook on the back the door. It's shiny. Acrylic. New. It looks as though it has just been installed.

  He checks the back of the other three doors again. No hooks; not even a hole where a hook might go. Nothing. Only graffiti.

  And then he remembers. The box on Randall's bathroom counter; that fateful day back in his apartment. White hooks. There was an entire box of them. Of course.

  He walks into the stall and studies the hook carefully. He places his hand over it, and with a bit of force, is able to dislodge it from the bracket. He turns the hook over in his hand and sees the tiny USB port on one side, and a memory card slot directly beside it. On closer inspection, he sees that the slot has no card, or, more likely, the card has just been removed.

  He resists the urge to stomp the hook under his boot and places it carefully back on its bracket. He's got to act fast, but he knows what to do.

  "What were you doing in there?" Georgia asks him when he comes out.

  "How many washrooms are in this school?"

  Georgia frowns. "I don't know. Four maybe?"

  "Do most of them have hooks on the doors of the stall?"

  'What?"

  "Hooks. On the backs of the stall doors. You know, to hang your stuff on?"

  "Are you kidding?" Georgia laughs. "I don't know about the guy's washrooms, but we don't have them. God, do you even know how awesome that would be? Do you know what it's like to have to balance your purse and stuff on your lap when you pee?"

  "That's what I thought." Eddie scans the empty hall in both directions.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Never mind," Eddie says.

  Georgia is getting frustrated. She rolls her eyes and leans back against a locker. "What's going on, Eddie? Why are you acting so weird?"

  "I gotta go," Eddie says. "I'll talk to you later."

  "Seriously? You're leaving?"

  Eddie runs the length of the hallway and takes the stairs down to the basement two at a time.

  He waits near Frank's old office, near the furnace room, hiding behind the door to the supply cupboard until he sees Randall come out of the office and walk out the back door. Eddie follows him as he walks over to the playing field where he begins uncoiling a length of hose.

  Good. That will buy him, at least, a few minutes. That's all he needs. Thanks to Frank's awesomeness, Eddie knows his way around that office pretty well.

  The room hasn't changed much since Frank's departure; it's still dark and the air remains thick and stagnant. The same oversized calendar hangs on the far wall, the one featuring wildlife of British Columbia, compliments of the local credit union. This month's page—June—shows a pair of bald eagles perched on top of a craggy arbutus tree.

  But the surface of the desk messier than it was when Frank was here, Eddie thinks. Elastic bands, half-filled mugs of coffee, scattered papers, random keys, pens, chocolate bar wrappers and misshapen paper clips litter the top of it. A different laptop sits in the middle of the desk. Frank's computer was a dinosaur—an ancient thrift store special, but this laptop isn't anything like that one. It's a state-of-the-art model with all the bells and whistles.

  He pulls out the chair and inspects the laptop. It's not powered up, but a small card sits beside it, partially obscured by a crumpled napkin. Eddie pockets it, and his foot kicks against a something under the desk. He bends down, removes a stack of folded tarps, and pulls out th
e box. Lifts the lid. It's the same one he saw in Randall's apartment—the box in the bathroom—the box of hooks.

  He doesn't think twice; he picks it up and heads straight for Principal Redman's office.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  "Didn't expect to see you anytime soon," Principal Redman says when he opens his office door to find Eddie standing on the other side of it.

  "Is it okay if I come inside for a minute, sir?"

  Principal Redman doesn't answer.

  "It's important," Eddie says.

  "Fine. Come in, then."

  Eddie walks over to the principal's desk and sets the box down.

  "What's all this?"

  "They're hooks," Eddie says. "Bathroom hooks."

  "Look," Principal Redman says. "I have a budgeting meeting in a few minutes, Edward. Can we just—"

  "They aren't just bathroom hooks, Mr. Redman," Eddie says. His face feels hot, and the air suddenly feels heavy. He takes a deep breath. "They're spy cams."

  "Spy cams?"

  Eddie takes the memory card out of his pocket and sets it down beside the box. "There's a hook that was just installed on the back of a door in the girls' washroom. The one near the gym."

  "And you know this because?" Principal Redman folds his arms across his chest. He touches the memory card with his forefinger, but he doesn't pick it up.

  "Go ahead," Eddie says. "Have a look. I guarantee you it belongs to that new custodian you just hired. I saw him go into the girls' bathroom about half an hour ago."

  "What? Today?"

  "Yeah. He came out of it looking all shifty, so I went in and that's when I saw the hook on the door.

  "You went into the girl's bathroom?"

  "I know that guy is bad news, Mr. Redman. I've seen him in town, on the street. He's a predator. He likes kids."

  "His references checked out just fine."

  Eddie shakes his head. Anybody can fake a resume and references. "No. I've...I've heard things."

  "Where'd you get that memory card?"

  "It was in the custodial office. Next to his computer."

  "You went into Mr. Kirk's office? You can't do that, Eddie."