Grouper's Laws
Page 15
Purdy took a step forward, then stopped. Barnwell didn’t move.
“Something the matter?” Purdy asked. Blondie detected a faint tremble in his voice.
“I want our five bucks back.”
“No way. You got something to drink.”
“Five bucks or it’s your ass.”
“Get it from Blondie. He owes us a case, anyway.”
Brick looked back toward the car.
Oh shit, Blondie thought. He’d forgotten all about that.
“What’re you talking about?” Brick asked Purdy.
“Blondie promised us a case on account of Buford not killing him. He never delivered.”
Barnwell grinned and stared at Blondie. He was dying inside. Christ, he would’ve bought the case if they had asked. Why was Purdy telling everyone? He could feel the gang’s collective eyes boring into him — into his yellow, lily liver.
“What’d you promise them beer for?” Brick hissed at Blondie through the window. “We would’ve backed you up.”
What a worm he was, Blondie thought, what a craven worm. He’d disgraced the whole club — himself most of all.
“I don’t know about that case,” Brick growled, turning back to Purdy. “I didn’t make any promise about anything. I paid for beer and I want beer, not hillbilly swill.”
“What’s the matter, Brick?” Buford taunted. “That sodie pop too strong for you?”
“Stay out of this, Barnwell. You’re not involved.”
“What if I get involved?” Barnwell stepped from under the eaves and took a few steps toward their car.
“Then I’m going to kick your skinny little redneck butt all over this parking lot.”
Blondie could feel his stomach jumping. Buford was a tough customer. But then, Brick had about thirty pounds on him and it was all muscle — and Brick was pissed.
Barnwell didn’t answer and he didn’t move. Instead, he leaned toward Purdy and whispered something to him. Purdy walked over to the door of the Cellar and went inside.
“You’re pretty far away to talk so big,” Barnwell said to Brick, recommencing the verbal fray. “Why don’t you come closer?”
Brick stomped toward Barnwell, tightening his fists with each step, homing in on Barnwell like a slow-moving torpedo. Barnwell took a step backward and cast an anxious glance to his rear.
The door to the Suds Cellar crashed open. Purdy shot from the top of the stairs, followed by a large, muscular-looking young man in a leather jacket. He had a couple days’ worth of whiskers on his face.
“Holy Christ,” Dispatch said, “it’s Merwin Fester.”
Blondie’d never heard the name before, but from Dispatch’s awed tone, he knew Fester had a reputation.
Brick stopped about six feet from Barnwell. Buford — who’d been crouching — straightened up.
“Hey there, Buford,” the new fellow said, “having a problem?”
Blondie could see the guy better under the parking lot lights. He looked to be twenty-two or -three. Sewn onto the left front of his jacket was a patch bearing the “Harley-Davidson” logo. He was wearing jackboots.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Buford said, renewed confidence in his voice.
“L-liar,” Shakes yelled from the car.
“Eat sh-shit, br-broken m-mouth,” Barnwell mimicked.
“Wh-what d-did you s-say?”
Blondie felt Shakes’ whole body began to quiver next to him in the car.
“I said eat shit, you stuttering half-wit,” Barnwell taunted.
Shakes exploded from the car and ran at Buford. Blondie was astonished. Brick was astonished. Barnwell was most astonished.
When he reached Barnwell, Shakes began flailing his small fists. Buford stepped aside and caught Shakes hard against his left ear. Shakes turned in surprise and Barnwell hit him flush in the face. Blood spurted from Shakes’ nose. Shakes wiped his nose with the back of his hand and then gaped at the red smear on his hand.
A sudden rage gripped Blondie. Barnwell was a lot bigger than Shakes. It wasn’t fair. He opened his door and stepped outside.
“Well, if it ain’t the giraffe,” Buford said.
“You son of a bitch,” Blondie said, advancing a step or two towards him. “He’s half your size.”
Buford eyed Blondie warily as Shakes stumbled back toward the Chrysler. Fester and Purdy seemed content to stand by and see what developed.
“Yeah, well, he came at me, didn’t he?” Barnwell said.
Blondie detected a hint of apprehension in Barnwell’s tone. That thought provided Blondie a momentary rush, but with each step forward, he could feel his anger subside. Oh God, it was going to be just like every other time he wanted to stand up to someone — his body was going to give him away. Blondie willed himself to keep moving forward, but his legs began to feel as if they were filling with water. He was getting dizzy. He stopped.
“Second thoughts, huh, big boy?”
Blondie started to make a smart retort, but his tongue wouldn’t move. He felt faint. Blondie inched his way back to the Chrysler and leaned against it for support.
Buford laughed.
“What a bunch of pansies you guys are.”
Brick’s voice ended Buford’s brief gloating.
“I’m not finished with you, asshole,” Brick said.
Buford looked over to the man in the motorcycle jacket.
“Ah, they’re just soreheads is all,” he said to him, as if it was all over. Brick took another step toward Barnwell.
The newcomer interposed himself between Brick and Buford.
“Maybe you and your friends should just move along somewhere else,” he said to Brick.
His voice was soft, non-threatening. He seemed more amused than anything else.
“Maybe you should just kiss my ass,” Brick replied.
“Oh God, no,” Dispatch murmured.
“What’d you say, peckerface?” Fester asked Brick.
“Have you got shit in your ears or can’t you hear?” Brick shot back.
Fester’s head snapped back and a wild look came into his eyes. He began striding toward Brick.
“Start the car, Grouper,” Blondie ordered, jumping into the front seat.
“Brick, Shakes, get in the car.”
When Shakes bailed out, Brick’s resolve vanished. He began backing up. The man in the denim jacket balled up his fists.
“Start moving,” Blondie instructed Grouper.
As the Chrysler eased forward, Blondie held the door open.
“Run, Brick,” he yelled.
Brick turned to see where the car was and then broke for it, with Fester in pursuit. Brick dove into the front seat just as Fester aimed a swift kick at his rear. Fester caught air as Grouper hit the throttle.
Through the open window, Blondie heard Purdy’s and Barnwell’s laughter. He heard it long after they were out of earshot.
Nobody spoke for a long time.
“What a disaster,” Grouper finally said. “An epic loss of face.”
“What could I do?” Brick said. “I couldn’t fight Fester.”
“No one’s blaming you,” Dispatch said.
Blondie could guess who they were blaming.
“Who is this Fester, anyway?” Blondie asked. He wished he hadn’t said a word. Brick, Dispatch, and Shakes all gave him sour looks.
“One of the roughest guys in the county, that’s all,” Dispatch finally answered. “He trains horses at Mirandel Farms.”
“H-he graduated fr-from F-Fenton f-four years ago,” Shakes added. Grouper drove out to the quarry where they sat around in the dark with no beer to ease their pain. Sentences would begin and then break apart. Everything was all wrong, Blondie thought. They weren’t in the P-mobile. They didn’t have any beer. They’d been disgraced by the billies. And it was all his fault. He kept silent, willing himself to disappear.
“Ah fuck, let’s go home,” Bric
k said after about a half hour.
Just before they got to Brick’s house, Shakes said to Brick, “B-buford was sc-scared of y-you.”
“That’s right,” Dispatch agreed.
“I would’ve cleaned his clock,” Brick declared.
“Y-yeah, y-you sure w-would’ve.”
That seemed to revive the group a little.
As Brick got out, he turned to Blondie and said, “I’m sorry if I got on you, man. But you shouldn’t have made any deal with Barnwell and Purdy. They’re snakes.”
Shakes turned to the Grouper, who’d said nothing since they’d left the Cellar.
“Wh-what law w-was at w-work tonight?” he asked him.
Grouper cleared his throat.
“This one is easy. Never, ever, conduct business with a billy.”
“Amen,” Blondie agreed. He felt like a warmed-over turd.
“We’ll get them for this,” Dispatch promised when Grouper dropped him off.
“It w-wasn’t all that b-bad,” Shakes said when they got back to his house.
“You were brave,” Blondie assured him.
“Yeah, and l-look what I g-got for it.” Shakes held out his sleeve. Even in the dark Blondie could see it was covered with blood. Just what Shakes needed, Blondie thought. His dad smacks him in the afternoon. Buford smacks him in the evening.
Grouper drove Blondie back through Fenton. Near the courthouse, “Silent Night” blared from a loudspeaker. No one was on the streets.
“I fucked up,” Blondie said.
He felt he needed to perform some act of penance. But what could it be?
“It doesn’t matter,” Grouper said. “It’s all just stupid kid stuff.”
“Then why are we doing it?”
“Kismet, I guess. Fate, destiny. Because we’re still in high school.” “How can you always be so calm? Doesn’t anything ever bother you?”
“Sure. I just don’t know how to talk about some things. Right now, in fact …. ”
He seemed to be debating telling Blondie something.
“Go on,” Blondie encouraged him.
“I set it up to pick you up first and take you home last,” Grouper continued. “I wanted to talk to you, but …. “He broke off again.
In the distance, Blondie saw something on the road, a dark spot at the far reach of the headlights.
“I don’t know how to put this … ” Grouper started again. Blondie was trying to give Grouper his attention, but there was definitely something there.
“It’s just that … ”
Now Blondie could make out what it was — a small deer.
“Grouper, there’s a deer on the road,” Blondie said.
“This is something I haven’t told anyone … ”
Grouper was fixated on getting the words out.
“THERE’S A DEER ON THE ROAD!” Blondie yelled at him.
“What? Where?”
The Chrysler hurtled toward the antlered road barrier, now less than a hundred yards ahead.
“I can’t see anything,” Grouper said.
“Grouper, you’ve got to slow down now!”
“Oh yeah. Now I see it.”
“Then slow down!”
“Don’t worry,” Grouper reassured Blondie. “I’ve read about this. Once you shine your headlights in a deer’s eyes, it’s hypnotized. It won’t move an inch.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’ll just drive around it.”
Then they were upon it, almost eye to eye as Blondie remembered later. Blondie could make out the hairs on the deer’s hide, its dark perplexed eyes.
Grouper swung the Chrysler to the right to go around it. In violation of Grouper’s theory, the deer sprang right into them.
WHUMP! The impact drove them onto the shoulder. Grouper fought the wheel to bring the Chrysler screeching back onto the road surface.
“Why didn’t it stay still?” Grouper asked, nonplused.
“I guess it had a different idea.”
“Do you think it’s dead?”
“What do you want to do? Go back and give it mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?”
Grouper waited until he came to a streetlight, then pulled over. He got out and looked at the Chrysler, then let out a groan.
“The whole left side is smashed.”
He slumped against the car, gasping. Drops of moisture peppered his forehead.
“Another disappointment for my dad,” he said.
Disappointment? What a strange word for smashing your parents’ car.
Grouper pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from his jacket and mopped his brow.
“Don’t take it so hard,” Blondie said to Grouper. “Your dad probably has insurance.”
“I wasn’t thinking about the car. My folks can afford to fix it. Blondie, I’ve got to tell somebody this.”
He took a deep breath.
“I’ve met a girl.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“I’ll bet it’s Meryl Dimsell,” Feller said when Blondie accidentally spilled Grouper’s news. “But I hope not.”
Feller was psychic. That was the name Grouper had mentioned. Drat! Feller had guessed Grouper’s secret because of his big mouth.
“I’ve seen him talking with her,” Feller added.
So Feller already suspected. That took him off the hook, didn’t it?
“Who is she? What’s she like?” Blondie asked, giving in to his curiosity.
“She’s a senior. Takes business classes. Hangs out with Delores Clitoris and Flossie Wilder sometimes …. a real yokel. And talk about ugly.”
“She’s not a billy queen, is she?”
“A real slop-highness.”
Blondie was perplexed. Grouper disdained billies.
“Then why …?”
“Maybe she’s all he can get. Maybe he’s fucking her.”
“The Grouper?”
“Do you think he’s beyond horniness?”
Blondie’d never given Grouper’s hormones much thought. Now that he did, it was hard for him to imagine Grouper sexually aroused. He never even made lewd comments about girls. Besides, he seemed too … lethargic? But he was a teenaged guy. That implied his basic posture toward life — despite any observable mannerisms — would be fully erect.
“Are you still grounded?” Blondie asked Feller.
“Afraid so.”
Blondie told him about the deer.
“It’s a good thing no one witnessed it.”
“Why?”
“The state patrol charges three bucks a pound for a deer.”
That didn’t sound fair to Blondie. The deer had ambushed them.
“It must have weighed a couple hundred pounds.”
“Like I said, it’s a good thing no one saw you hit it. How was your Christmas?”
“Boring. Yours?”
“Boring.”
The first two weeks back in school were taken up by semester exams. A little studying pulled Blondie through with an A, 3 B’s, and 2 C’s — disappointing to his parents, but he was satisfied. He’d be able to get into college with those grades.
Feller slightly bested Blondie’s marks and Dispatch, Shakes, and Brick hadn’t come close. Grouper wouldn’t tell anyone what his grades were.
“Grouper never tells,” Feller said, “but I’m sure he does all right. He knows all the answers in class.”
Feller asked Blondie again about going to Smith-Reid with him. They’d both taken their college boards a couple weeks earlier.
“Yeah, okay. Why not?”
“Great,” Feller enthused, slapping him on the back. “But keep it a secret, huh? I don’t want the other guys to feel left out.”
Speaking of secrets, Blondie was relieved when Grouper began strolling the halls with Meryl, stunning Brick, Dispatch and Shakes into varying degrees of disbelief. He could quit worrying about Feller revealing his indiscretion.
Brick often teased Grouper when he saw him walking with her.
“Hey Grouper, where’d you get that girl?” he’d call out.
Blondie asked Feller why Brick was acting so cruel.
“Beats me. Brick used to go out with Meryl, but I never thought he liked her. I assumed it was because she’s supposed to be easy.”
Was that why Grouper was dating her? Blondie had trouble believing it. He didn’t seem the type to take advantage of anyone.
One thing was for sure — Grouper’s coupling changed their group dynamics. It wasn’t fun to discuss girls now that Grouper had one. What everyone said about girls — they wore too much makeup, took too long in the john, wouldn’t fuck them or fucked the wrong guys (other guys) — now sounded like sour grapes. And then, of course, Grouper spent far less time with them.
Second semester brought few changes. Blondie had the same teachers and in the same order, except now he had Farber for physics instead of chemistry and Miss Darlington for journalism instead of civics.
Blondie promised himself he was going to be more prominent in school. Not just because he was tired of feeling like a cipher, but more from the belief Tammy might notice him if he were a Big Man on Campus. His self-promotion plan had two components. First was getting on the staff of the school newspaper, The Fentonian. Second, when the time came, he was going to try out for the golf team.
Blondie’s first day in journalism class brought one surprise — Tammy’s tall, pig-tailed friend Phyllis was there. It turned out juniors, as well as seniors, could take journalism. Blondie debated whether her presence was bad or good. He decided it would be good if she thought he was pretty swift and bad if she thought he was a nerd. Either way, it was sure to get back to Tammy. Blondie determined to acquit himself well.
From the first day, he displayed a zeal for journalism that soon led Miss Darlington to invite him to join the Fentonian staff (she was faculty sponsor). That meant spending an extra hour a day after school on Wednesdays, helping lay out the paper. Blondie was willing to do it, but he didn’t have a ride home.
He mentioned his predicament to her.