Dreams Come to Life

by Adrienne Kress

  That being said, Grandpa seemed pretty fine. Completely unaffected by the ink. I guess after everything he’d been through, a strange night like the one we had was really not that big of a deal. He was back to his old self and only disappointed I’d thrown out the drawings and the ink. He wanted me to practice more. But I told him I couldn’t. Not now.

  Maybe not ever, a part of me said.

  I sat on the bed first thing the morning of the party, holding the suit bag in my arms. I’d never felt this heavy before. So weighted down. By … what, I didn’t know. I just had a feeling that that night was not going to go well. I wanted to have faith in Mister Drew, but the more I learned, the harder it was, and it made me feel foolish. But then I thought about everyone else at the studio who seemed to trust him, to believe in him. I didn’t know what to think.

  “Sad?” Grandpa asked, sitting next to me.

  I didn’t even know he was here. “Tired.”

  He nodded. “Yes,” he said. I could tell he was looking at me but I didn’t want to look back. He took my hand in his and said, “Buddy. Your heart is good. Your soul is good. This is good.”

  I finally looked at him, at those eyes that had once frightened me and now seemed warm and thoughtful. I wished I could speak to him properly. I felt like I didn’t have the time to learn. But I heard him. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. That the world confused me and scared me. But I didn’t know how to express that to him.

  “Grandpa, I’m sorry,” I said instead.

  He looked at me a little confused. “Sorry?” He shook his head. “No, no need sorry.”

  “No, I am. I was angry you were here, I was angry about the art, I didn’t understand.”

  Grandpa turned and gazed at the painting at the foot of the bed. I had no idea if I was making any sense to him.

  “Anger is okay,” he said.

  Was it? I wasn’t sure it was. Didn’t feel okay, that was for sure.

  “Anger can inspire person. Can make change. Can make art.” He reached out and touched the painting, just the tips of his fingers, but I was shocked. Who just touched a painting? “Passion.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t sure where he was going with this but I needed to listen. I needed what he was saying.

  “Too much anger …” He pushed gently at the canvas, still just with his fingertips. The paint cracked and the canvas pushed backward, like a hidden door. There was a hole in the painting. I stared. How did he know that was there? Wait. Unless …

  “Did you … is this your painting? Did you paint this?” I asked.

  Grandpa nodded. He stared at the hole hard. He made a fist and placed it slowly inside. It fit perfectly. “Hate,” he said turning to me.

  I don’t know how I understood him finally, after all this time. But I did. It was his painting, he had created it. Something had made him very angry. He had tried to destroy it. Grandpa smiled again at me and turned back to the painting, carefully pulling out his hand. He delicately took the edge of the broken canvas between his two fingers and pulled the loose piece slowly back into place.

  “Anger inspire. Hate destroy. Love fix.” He smiled wide then. “Fancy lesson,” he said with almost a laugh.

  I couldn’t help but laugh too, seeing him like this, self-aware. I wondered what his thoughts were like; were they like mine? All over the place and confused? Commenting on everything? Had they maybe been like that and now they were calm?

  He took my hand and patted it. “You okay.”

  That, I didn’t think was true. But maybe I would be. Maybe I would be okay.

  Grandpa gave me one more smile and pat on the hand before he let it go. He stood up, gave me one last look, and with a satisfied nod, left the room.

  Saying good-bye is hard. Especially when you don’t know when you’ll see someone again. If you ever will. Saying good-bye to Pa felt impossible, like I was squeezing the words out of my chest. Holding on to his hand because letting go was too hard.

  But now I know something worse.

  Not getting to say good-bye at all.

  I brought my tux to work to change because I didn’t want a repeat of when Mister Drew drove me home. I also couldn’t imagine sitting on the subway in that suit, being stared at. And walking was out of the question. I’d show up at some classy joint soaking wet from sweat.

  So I brought the bag with me, which meant, of course, everyone who saw me instantly knew I’d been invited.

  Ms. Lambert hadn’t said anything. She just looked at the bag and shook her head and got back to work. But both Richie and Jacob had fun messing with me. I don’t know, maybe they were actually jealous and hiding it, but they seemed pretty decent about it all.

  “Well, we were going to invite you to join our little party tonight, at Duke’s across the street. But I guess not, Mr. Fancy,” said Jacob.

  “Does Dot know?” asked Richie, leaning against my desk.

  “Dot?” I asked.

  “Is she your date, is what he’s asking,” said Jacob, giving Richie a look.

  “Oh, no, no. Just me. Alone. I … kind of wish I wasn’t going.” I didn’t mean to be so honest, but it kind of came out like that.

  “Are you kidding, young bachelor on the town? Surrounded by gorgeous dames, all dolled up? You have to go, for my sake,” said Richie.

  Well, I couldn’t not go anyway. I felt like Mister Drew would take it personally. “Okay, okay,” I said with a laugh. And then the guys laughed too, until Ms. Lambert yelled at us to get back to work.

  And then things were pretty normal. It’s funny how normal can be weird. Sometimes things shouldn’t be normal. After everything I’d been through, being teased, doing work, going to a party, that felt really strange.

  I didn’t see Dot all day. Not once. I don’t know why. I went to Story many times, but she wasn’t there. I knew she was at work that day, other folks told me so. It was almost like she was avoiding me. Maybe she was. After all, I’d been avoiding her all week. It was only fair.

  I wanted to wait until the team left before changing into my tux, but they had other plans in mind, and so I was forced to do a little fancy walk and show off my suit to them as they all whistled at me. I’ll admit that wearing that suit did make me feel pretty good. There was something about clothes that fit you properly and looked good on you that actually affected your mood.

  Finally we were off, and that’s when I saw Dot. In the lobby. Waiting for the other guys to go to Duke’s Pub with them.

  “You’re in a tux,” she said, furrowing her eyebrows.

  “Yeah, Buddy’s going to Mister Drew’s swanky shindig,” said Jacob, slapping me on the back.

  “Really?” She was looking at me hard.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I don’t really want to go.”

  “Good,” she said. “I think we should go back tonight, with the party and everyone else leaving early. We need to find that machine. What it does.”

  My face started to feel warm, and my gut clenched. But it wasn’t fear. For once. I realize I was feeling angry. With her. “Why? Why do we have to do that?” I asked sharply.

  She looked taken aback. “Because we need to figure out what is happening in the studio,” she replied slowly.

  “No, we don’t. We don’t,” I snapped back. Don’t let the anger turn to hate, Buddy, I told myself, hearing my grandfather’s words in my ear. Don’t let it grow. “And even if the mystery for some reason needs to be solved, we don’t have to be the ones to do it.”

  “Buddy …” said Dot. She looked uncomfortable, and unsure. I didn’t like seeing her unsure. “What about the violinist?”

  My throat closed as I tried to swallow. I leaned in and whispered, “That’s exactly why we need to stop.”

  “That’s exactly why we can’t,” she fiercely whispered back.

  I shook my head. No. It wasn’t worth risking my life over. I had a family to take care of. I needed to protect them. “Why do you need to do this? What’s it
to you?”

  “I need to,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion.

  “But why?” Of all the things she couldn’t be direct about.

  “Because I can do this!” She was still whispering, but it felt like shouting. “Because it’s something I can do. I can actually make a difference. I don’t have to just sit there, and wait, and worry, and watch people die. I can stop it. And help. You have no idea what it’s like to feel like there’s nothing you can do.”

  I couldn’t help it, I laughed. It was crazy, of all the things I knew, it was feeling helpless, out of control.

  “Don’t laugh at me,” she said.

  “I’m going to the party. I’m tired and I don’t want to, but it’s important for Mister Drew.”

  Dot laughed. “After everything Norman said to us, you think he cares about you, Buddy?”

  That was going too far. “I do. I think he cares. I think he cares at least about me. He might not be perfect, but no one is. Not me. Not him. Not you.”

  Dot bit the inside of her cheeks. I took a step back as Jacob sidled up to us. “Alright, let’s get this party started!” he said, clapping his hands together.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” I said, distracted by Dot’s expression.

  “Not the boring party you’re going to, Buddy, the fun party. My party.” He smacked me on the back.

  Dot continued to stare at me. “Well. Have fun,” she said. Then she turned sharply for the door and started to head out the building.

  “Whoa, Dot, wait up!” called Jacob. “Sorry, Bud, gotta run. Come join us at Duke’s if you’re not all swanked out!” He dashed after her, followed quickly by Richie, who gave me a wink.

  And then I was alone in the lobby. Feeling both really frustrated and really stupid.

  Of course that level of stupid was nothing compared to how I felt arriving at the hotel for the party. First of all I’d paid for a cab, and after tipping the driver and stepping out onto the street I just felt so dumb for wasting my money like that. Just because I didn’t want to wrinkle my tux. And anyway, looking sharp really didn’t seem to matter because, next to all the perfectly dressed couples gliding into the gleaming lobby, I suddenly felt like clothes did not make the man. Well, maybe they did, if that man was the doorman. Which is what I looked more like. Or a waiter. Basically anything other than a guest. It wasn’t just the quality of my tux, which I realized was not quite as nice as the gentleman’s standing next to me waiting for the elevators was. It was the way he carried himself. The way he and his wife glanced at me. The way she pulled her fur stole a little tighter around her torso.

  They could probably smell my neighborhood on me. Even if they couldn’t see it. They knew.

  The doors to the elevator opened and an attendant in a bright red uniform and cap held them for us as we stepped on.

  “Joey Drew Studios party?” he asked.

  I nodded. The woman with the fur said “Yes” in this way that gave the word two more syllables.

  The doors closed.

  We stood for a moment in silence, rising up through the building.

  “Well, this will be interesting,” said the man with a sigh.

  “Oh, hush,” said his wife.

  He rolled his eyes and looked at me, like he wanted me to roll my eyes in solidarity with him. “You know Joey?” he asked.

  I didn’t want to speak, I didn’t want them to hear my accent. So I just nodded again, and made a kind of yes sound in the back of my throat.

  “Don’t know what he thinks he’s trying to prove. Can he even afford this?”

  “Dear, hush,” said the wife with a little more emphasis.

  The husband looked at me and sighed. I was able to roll my eyes back this time, which he seemed to appreciate.

  The doors opened.

  “Rooftop,” announced the elevator operator with a smile. We made our way into a small plush foyer, all pink carpet and pink shiny wallpaper. A chaise lounge leaned against the opposite wall, and a woman in a purple dress sat on it checking her lipstick in her compact.

  I followed behind the man and his wife to a set of double doors where two men dressed almost exactly like me opened them to a large, loud party on the roof in full swing. Literally. The dance floor was packed with couples swing dancing, and a live band played for them at the far end. I wondered for a moment if any of the musicians worked for Mister Drew.

  I remembered the violinist.

  Then I tried instantly to forget her and just take in everything I was seeing.

  This is another time I wish I could draw the scene. It was impressive, but what does that mean when I say that? I can say that we were on the rooftop patio with the lights of New York City sprawled out before us. It felt like being in the sky surrounded by stars. There were bright lights shining on the dance floor, on the mirrored bar, on the crowd, dressed in every color of the rainbow. Huge planters overflowing with yellow hyacinths framed the edge on all four sides. I only knew the kind of flower because for a while there we were getting a lot of them. After Pa died. The only way to not want to throw them out the window was learning a bit about them.

  There was laughter and conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses.

  I stood there, paralyzed in awe, overwhelmed. And in that moment I realized how different the lives of others really were. Not that I hadn’t always known that. But this was like a kick to the gut. A kick to the gut after you’ve already been punched and are on the ground all curled up. I shook my head and blinked hard, and then decided getting a drink might just help.

  So I turned and found myself staring eye-to-eye with Bendy.

  I stared at the large smile, the teeth, the solid black eyes. I stared at this face I knew so well in front of me. Living, right in front of me. I felt this wave of nausea pass over me as I stumbled, and staggered forward.

  “Hey, watch it!” he said. Or I guess the muffled voice inside of Bendy said it. It was hard in the moment for me to understand what was going on, my heart was pumping so fast. But when he shoulder-checked me and walked away everything came into clear focus. I turned to quickly watch him wander through the crowd as folks noticed him and laughed with delight. A man in a giant Bendy costume.

  That’s when I saw a large Boris on the dance floor doing a kind of awkward Charleston. And Alice standing over by the band pretending to conduct. Each mascot was around six feet tall, maybe taller. They looked off. Not in the right proportions. The way they looked didn’t match their images in my head. It didn’t match the cartoons. They weren’t meant to be oversized like this. Weren’t meant to be life-sized.

  “They don’t work at all, do they?” said a familiar voice. I looked to my right and, sure enough, Mister Drew had come up beside me.

  “No,” I replied, hoping he wouldn’t mind. Even though he’d just said what he had.

  “Come check out this view with me, Buddy,” he said, motioning with his arm.

  I followed him through the crowd. He said hi to everyone, shook hands, patted backs, laughed at jokes he only heard the punch line to. It was almost as much of a dance as the people swirling about to the music. He led me to where a few couples were gathered along the edge of the rooftop, looking out toward the glowing Empire State Building. The view was, well, magnificent.

  Not a word I think I’d ever used before that night.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” said Mister Drew, leaning on the wrought iron railing. I had a flashback to standing beside him on the catwalk. To his prank. I stayed a couple feet behind him.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Every single one of those buildings out there, every single one was built by someone who had a dream. Who worked hard and never lost sight of that.”

  I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. I didn’t think he really needed me to react anyway. He was going to say what he wanted to say.

  He turned around, though, and looked at me. “You don’t agree?”

  “No, I do,” I said quickly. “I nodde
d. I’m sorry, I do agree.” I felt really uncomfortable all of a sudden.

  He squinted at me. “Because some people will tell you that you should give up. That it’s a fool’s errand.”

  “There are always people who do that,” I said.

  Mister Drew kept staring at me. Then suddenly he was really close. “Don’t let anyone hold you back,” he said in a loud whisper. I could smell alcohol on his breath.

  “Well, Joey, this is some party, but I’m not sure I deserve all this.” A bombastic voice broke his intense stare, and Mister Drew was suddenly giving a big, burly man a big, burly hug.

  “Bertie, you old so-and-so!” he said with a chuckle. “So you made it to your own celebration at last.”

  They pulled apart as the bigger man laughed heartily. “Sure, sure. You say this now, but you’ll be tossing me off the side of this building when you-know-what hits the fan and we have to move the deadline.”

  “Well, fair’s fair,” said Mister Drew and they both laughed again. “Buddy!” he said, turning to me and wrapping an arm over the man’s shoulder. “This is Bertrum Piedmont. He’s a genius.”

  “Well, I’m something alright,” replied Bertrum, sticking out a beefy hand and shaking mine vigorously. “Nice to meet you, Buddy.”

  “Buddy’s an apprentice at the studio. An artist,” said Mister Drew.

  “Well, we always need those,” said Bertrum, and I wasn’t sure if he meant it or not.

  Mister Drew laughed and then smacked him on the back. “Come on, now that you’re here it’s time for the speech.”

  “Oh, great, you know I love those!” said Bertrum, and they laughed together and walked away toward the stage.

  How could two people who seemed so happy and carefree make me feel so completely the opposite?

  I wandered over to the dance floor but stayed on the opposite side of the stage near the doors to the foyer. I don’t know why, but I felt like I needed a quick getaway. Just in case.

  When the band finished their song, Mister Drew took to the stage and was ceded the microphone by the sparkly singer. He smiled and kissed both her cheeks before turning to the crowd.

  “How’s everyone doing tonight?” he called out. His voice boomed over the crowd, and I wondered for a moment if all of New York could hear him.