* * * *
The next morning at breakfast (scrambled eggs and peanut butter pancakes and bacon), Elvis got a call and was asked if he could please bring his rescue dog back and help them look for a couple more missing people in the worst struck area. Of course he had to say yes. I offered to go with him, but I could tell from the way he looked at me that it would be a very difficult day, that is, in a death and dismemberment kind of way.
It hung there for a couple of minutes before Ducky said, “I’m taking these poor boys shopping. I can’t imagine how they’ve tolerated looking like refugees from the fifties this long. Then they’re going to help me clean out the attic…and the third floor. I think our ghost is happy now.”
“Why?” Brandon asked.
“The music.” Ducky sighed. “I wish you could both stay here, but your families would find you too easily and I have no right to either of you. They may find you at your grandpa’s farm, too, but—well—that won’t be my circus and you won’t be my monkeys then.”
I wasn’t sure I knew what she was talking about but Brandon nodded. I just knew she was trying to do the right thing, because that’s the kind of person she was.
Now I thought maybe Ducky would take us to a thrift shop of some kind and as I still had the fifty dollars untouched in my pocket somewhere, I was excited. You can get a lot for very little that way. However, she didn’t get us into the Jeep, like I would have thought, but into the other car, the not-an-Excalibur. See, I’d already forgotten what it was, but at least I was going to find out the color of the interior. Beige, with little cut glass vases for flowers and real leather seats in the front. I think it was wool in the back, but what did I know?
Brandon went around and opened the door for Ducky like a true gentleman (I hadn’t even thought of it) but Ducky threw the keys to him. “Nope,” she said. “I’m tired. You drive.”
I’d never seen anyone other than maybe a two year old actually jump up and down like a car winner on a game show. “Oh my Great Aunt Gertie!” Brandon squealed. “Holy jumping frogs and toads!”
Ducky and I both stared at him. “Great Aunt Gertie?” she said. “Did I teach him that?” Then she really looked at me. “I can’t see how you’d look any better in more modern clothes, you’re the spitting image of a fifties movie hero, but oh well. Um, that kid can drive, can’t he? Oh never mind. It’s only a car. Even if he crashes it, it can be fixed. Any problem can be if you throw enough money at it. Except maybe jock itch.”
“It’s an automatic! And look, the front seat is open, like no roof!”
“I’m sitting in the back like a real lady should,” Ducky said. “Jack, that puts you in the death seat, and since that imp seems to be rather fond of you, I think he’ll drive carefully. Listen up,” she added as we climbed in and Brandon took several deep breaths to calm himself. “Downtown is rather undamaged and I know most of the proprietors. I don’t think we’ll have to worry about money, though that’s never a worry. This will be my treat—payment for de-ghosting my house—but since you two are heroes, I think you’ll find everything will be given to you. And I did not get rich by wasting money; so we’ll take it. It makes people feel good about themselves to give, you know, when it’s appreciated and needed. Have you ever thought about that?”
We both nodded because we were too excited to speak. She laughed, and Brandon muttered, “Shouldn’t I have a chauffeur’s cap?” and backed out of the garage flawlessly. He’d been born to the job.
What she’d said turned out to be true. Everyone refused to let us pay and we scored big, if you want it put in terms a ten year old would use, and believe me, that’s how we felt, like ten year olds on Christmas or something. And it wasn’t just clothes, it was everything else, shoes, shavers (ha-ha, well someday), music, electronics, books, and lunch. Everything. Ducky ate it up like she had either spawned us herself or caused the whole thing, tornado, life-saving dog, everything, all by herself. She really enjoyed it all almost as much as we did. Somehow, Brandon even scored a chauffeur’s cap.
After we got home and had carried all our boxes and bags inside, Brandon laid down on the bed just for a minute and was out like a light, a big smile on his face. I went back downstairs and found Ducky in the music room. I sat beside her and hugged her. “Thank you so much, for everything. I feel so valued, and I’m so grateful for that and for what you did for Brandon. I’ve never seen him that happy. You, um, know he’s not…”
She nodded and wiped her eyes. “Sure, but who cares. Sooner or later he’ll be able to address it, with therapy and surgery or whatever is required nowadays. He’ll be fine now that he has you.”
“Us,” I said. “Me, maybe yeah, but you and Elvis, too.”
“And that incredible dog.”
I started to go to the piano but Ducky held my arm a minute. “Before you play,” she said, “Do you think there is any way you could let him stay here with me, for a while?” Her eyes searched mine.
My face must have showed everything, fear, loss, confusion. That’s what I felt. My heart pounded. “What? Why?”
“Because, I’ve been thinking about this quite a bit. Brandon is very fragile right now.”
I nodded. I’d known that, but we’d covered it up with adventures and just, I dunno, pretense, I guess. But yeah, he was wound kind of tight.
“I really don’t know how to put it. I’d love to keep you both, parents notwithstanding, that’s a problem money can be thrown at. But you do need to keep your word to your relative, though I want you to come back here when you can, or if you need to; you see what I mean? If anything…”
I smiled, relieved, and nodded. Yeah, I felt that I had to keep my word, too, and I wanted to, I really did, but I also wanted to continue playing let’s pretend with Brandon. Maybe I was getting too dependent on him. I dunno. I loved being with him, he completed me somehow. We were the same age and in the same grade but somehow it felt like he was years younger than me, at least, emotionally.
Ducky must have read my mind. “Reality sucks, doesn’t it?”
That made me laugh.
“I’m worried about Brandon. He’s ready for a big emotional climate change, a breakdown, or acceptance, or a mental and emotional growth spurt, and that’s not an easy thing.”
I had an a-ha moment. “It’s like he’s stuck at the age he was when he hit puberty and had to face the fact that he had a girl body, isn’t it?”
Ducky just nodded.
“I wonder why that didn’t happen to me? Maybe because it took me years to find out and accept that I’m gay. I mean, I didn’t want to be but there it is. It’s not like my family was okay with it.”
I went over to the piano, found the kitten on the keys, put her on the seat with me, and started to play.
Much later Ducky took a phone call and when she came back she was upset. “Don’t panic,” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “But the police are bringing Elvis and the dog back. He—had an accident. He just called and said he’s been at the hospital and says he’s all right, but they x-rayed his leg anyhow and his ankle is broken. He’s mostly upset that his life-saving tour of duty is over for now, and that he won’t be able to deliver the limo to the buyer in Denver, or keep his promise to you boys to get you at least that far.” She went over to the couch and sat down suddenly, taking the cat with her and burying her face in the soft kitten fur. Finally she looked up. “On the plus side, he’s bringing pizza.”
“Can I help you set up a room for him downstairs here?”
“No need, he says he’s still going to Denver, only he’s riding in the back, and you’re driving.”
“I…” that was it. One syllable and I was done. Maybe Brandon would let me borrow his new cap.
* * * *
So that’s what was supposed to happen. But not for three days. First we ate pizza and talked and talked. Of course, what we wanted to hear was what had happened to Elvis. Busted was fine, at least he was after he scarfed down whatever pizza we let hi
m have, that is, weren’t watching closely enough. When he was done, he burped, took the kitten in his mouth and walked into the parlor and curled up under the piano, prompting Elvis to say, “We used to have one, but it fell off the piano.” He gave no explanation for this comment and I figured it had to be one of those old people things. We followed the dog into the parlor and made ourselves comfortable, helping Elvis prop his leg up on the couch. He was sipping on some “medicinal’ whiskey, as he called it, when he started his story.
“Busted had already led us to three trapped people, all alive, plus another cat, a dead cow, and…two bodies. Anyhow, just after that, he led us to another place where there was almost nothing left of what must have been a barn. There was just enough rubble, wooden boards, doors, shingles, and what not, to make a pile about the size of the piano there. But Busted kept whining and digging and so we, there were five or six of us men there at the time, started digging, too. Eventually we had cleared enough crap to find there was a tornado shelter there, built into the ground. We saw the door, and after a while were able to pry it up. Busted wanted desperately to go down there but he was too big for the opening we made. One man said, “He’s great, but a smaller dog would be nice to have.” Busted wagged his tail and ran off. After a bit more work,” Elvis looked at his bandaged hands, where obviously he had scraped and cut them badly, “we finally made a larger opening. I went down the steps, found two young girls curled up together, not hurt, but the air was starting to go bad, so it’s lucky Busted found the place when he did. We got them up onto the grass and the emergency people came over and took care of them. As I turned to see where Busted had gone, something small and white ran into me and knocked me over. That’s when I hurt my ankle. And you know what it was?” His eyes gleamed as he looked around at us, a hint of a smile playing around his mouth. He sipped his drink.
Brandon, who was enraptured, asked, “What? What!”
“Busted had gone off and found us exactly what that man had asked for—a smaller dog.”
We all roared with relief and laughter, even though the fact that Elvis had gotten a broken ankle out of it wasn’t really funny. Not really. Anyhow, then Elvis went on, “And darned if that little dog didn’t have a tag on him that said, “Large reward if found. Regent’s Regal Raleigh the Third,” and there was a phone number. Now, if any of you are prudish or squeamish, you may leave the room.”
His eyes were definitely twinkling now. Of course, it might only have been the whiskey. It was, after all, his third. Nobody moved, of course, except Brandon, who inched forward on his chair, his eyes lit up like a child at Christmas.
“We all turned around, and what do you think we saw?”
Mouths gaped open.
“Uh…how do I put this delicately? Busted was having a bit of how’s your father, so to speak.”
“What’s that?” Brandon asked, right on cue.
Elvis was unable to speak. Perhaps he had choked on his drink? Ducky gasped out, “Taking a trip to pound town!”
Brandon looked beyond confused. I had a pretty good idea of what they were talking about, but then I’m not a nice boy who was raised as a girl, either. I just sat there watching.
“What?” Brandon asked.
Ducky calmed down. “Burping the worm in the mole hole,” she explained, as calmly as a teacher would say, “The answer is forty-two.”
“Polishing the porpoise!” Elvis stammered, looking from Brandon to Ducky.
“Taking old one eye to the optometrist.”
Now I was the only one giggling. The adults were at war, and having a high old time of it, too, accent on the high.
“Riding the bologna pony,” snickered Elvis.
I looked from him to Ducky who was an interesting shade of mauve. It was her turn.
“Spe—spelunk—spelunking the bat cave!” she guffawed, wiping tears out of her eyes.
“I dunno,” Elvis sputtered. “I think it’s the drugs.”
“I think it’s the mentality,” Brandon fumed. “You people are adults and you should act your age. What kind of an example are you setting for us kids?” Oh was he mad—probably because he was still clueless.
An odd slurping sound came from under the piano. We all looked. Busted was licking his balls.
“Oh,” said Brandon in a small voice. Then louder, “Oh! For fuck’s sake! Why couldn’t you just say so!”
And we other three were all rolling in the aisles.
And just because he had to have the last word, Elvis said quietly, “Parking the Plymouth in the garage of love.”
But Ducky wasn’t cowed so easily. As she got up, she said, “Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo.”
Brandon sat there pouting and glaring. I was holding my stomach making feeble giggling noises.
Elvis whispered, “Vulcanize the whoopee stick.”
“Hide the pickle!” I fumbled out.
“Not you, too!” snarled Brandon. Then he tossed his head and exclaimed, “One does not simply walk into Mordor.”
All of us turned and looked at him. None of us had a clue now. I knew it was a quote from some recent movie, but that’s all I knew, and the adults knew even less.
“I win,” Brandon said smugly. Elvis and Ducky just smiled proudly.
“Anyhow,” Elvis said, “We called the number, and before we left, the owner had come tearing up in a Lexus and gave me a hundred dollar bill.” And he handed it to Brandon. “But I think we, that is, Busted, gave her back more than that!”
“If mongrels will be worth anything.”
“Hey, that’s my Irish Wolfhound you’re talking about!” I said.
“Shoulda charged a stud fee,” Elvis said. But a look of pain crossed his face, and Ducky shushed Brandon and me out of the room, and started fussing over Elvis. I think they were arguing but for fun when we went upstairs, and Brandon told me later they were kissing.
* * * *
The next day Brandon and I went to the third floor and cleaned. Ducky had told us at breakfast that she was going to have a family of four move in there. Their house had been totally demolished, and they had nowhere to go. There was no sign of any ghost, although we did find an old diary that we gave to Ducky along with some old photos.
Then we went into the attic and called down questions through some kind of speaking tube, to ask Ducky what she wanted done with things. She didn’t want to leave Elvis’ side. She’d made the living room couch into a bed, and he spent the next several days in there resting per doctor’s orders, and grousing and complaining. Turns out he has a PhD in automotive design or mechanical engineering or something; so he had the right attitude for a doctor.
The attic was wonderful. It was my new favorite place on earth. I wished I could stay there forever. We’d been going through old trunks and boxes with our marching orders. Ducky had told us what to throw out, what to repack, and what to ask her about. After the first couple of hours we found an ancient cabinet that housed all kinds of tubes and dials and stuff and still worked. We found out it was a radio when we plugged it in. You would think it would only play music as old as it was, but no, it hauled in some new stuff that we loved. So we turned that on and cleaned to it for a while. Then I ran downstairs and got sodas and snacks for us and came back up. We sat together on an old sofa. It was a weird shape, and Ducky told me later it was called a fainting couch. Anyhow, we were sitting there crunching and sipping and just idly talking, when Brandon got quiet.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him, thinking of what Ducky had told me the other day.
“I really like you,” he said quietly. Then he gave me goose bumps with just a look from his eyes. It was so intense, so full. I felt like I could see his heart and soul.
“I actually love you a lot,” Brandon said, now unable to look at me. “I want to be with you, but I think I need, I need to be here, too. And I don’t know what to do!”
His voice was so full of anguish. If only he could clone himself, I thought. Then I set down my soda and put my ar
ms around him. He laid his head on my shoulder and I could feel him crying against me. “I love you, too,” I said. “It might even be a forever kind of love, you know? It’s probably too soon to know. But you, you have to do what you need to do, to take care of yourself. And I have to keep my promise to my grandfather.” Wow it was easy! It was like Ducky had put the words in my mouth, or at least, in my head. “I’ll miss you something terrible, but it won’t have to be forever; it might not even have to be for long, you know? And we’ll write and call and email and everything. Okay, sweetheart?”
Oh boy, listen to me, I thought with some pride. A part of my brain still complained, but he has no dick! He has icky parts! What about all that, huh? I told myself to shut up. We’d deal with it later. We’d never done anything more than kiss yet. Maybe we should grope or something, I don’t know! I was horny, sort of. Then I got brave. “At some point,” I said, “we’re going to have to discuss this sex thing. I understand that kids our age like to do that sort of thing a lot,” (like right now, I was thinking), “but I still like, um, okay I’ll say it, dicks. I’d…” I stopped. Geez this was awful all of a sudden! Now I wanted to cry, too.
But Brandon laughed and sat up. He kissed me and I thought I heard him say, “A mouth is a mouth,” but I wasn’t really sure and I didn’t want to guess wrong. My dick was positive that’s what he’d said though.
Luckily or not, right then Ducky’s voice rang out over the speaking tube. “Lunch is ready! Come on down!” And the moment passed, as swiftly and surely as did my erection.
It was an odd lunch. I mean the food was excellent and all, and I loved these people, but nobody seemed to actually be there, if you know what I mean. Everyone had his or her own agenda going on. I knew Brandon’s, and even though he’d been smiling up in the attic, and now he was eating all right, he still seemed really preoccupied. Ducky was talking about this homeless family she was going to help out, but almost like she didn’t want to but had to. I didn’t understand. She didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to. And Elvis must have been in pain because he was quiet and cranky looking. It finally dawned on me that they didn’t really want to be apart any more than Brandon and I did.
Breaking into Cars Page 6