Educating Simon

by Robin Reardon

  “I understand.” I understand; I can hardly believe I said that. I can’t believe those were my words, coming out of my mouth. But, although I would never have admitted this to Mum, if Ned hadn’t already given me some encouragement regarding Luther, I might not have been so sure I wanted to go out with him. So I really couldn’t blame her for wanting Ned’s opinion. I had wanted it. And I trust Ned to put enough of Mum’s fears to rest that I will, in fact, be going out with Luther on Saturday night.

  Shit. I have to buy some clothes!

  Boston, Sunday, 28 October

  Where to start.

  I’m in lust. It’s definitely not love, but I’ll take lust for now. I’ve never had either, unless you count Graeme.

  Chronicling this in order will be important for posterity, so I’ll start from the beginning.

  After talking with Luther, I realised I would need to make a hole in my schedule someplace to buy clothes, apparel that wouldn’t be a letdown after the way I had looked Saturday. Tuesdays are devoted to The City, and it’s up to each student to decide what that means. Certainly commerce is one aspect of city life for cities everywhere. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to work anything that transpired during a clothes shopping expedition into my City report, but I didn’t see another good time to go. Saturday morning would be too late; I wouldn’t wear a new shirt without laundering it, and what if I bought something that needed to be altered?

  So Tuesday was it. But where to go? There were the predictable options of Saks Fifth Avenue and Neiman Marcus, but I saw them as American versions of Moss Bros in London—someplace I might go for basics, but not much there that was going to be really special. So Tuesday morning I talked with Brian after breakfast, which he takes earlier than Mum or Persie during the week, before he disappeared into his office. I didn’t yet have final permission for my date, but he didn’t have to know why I was asking about clothes.

  “What kind of clothes are you looking for, Simon? Need something else for school?”

  “Actually, no. Maybe I’m tired of looking so much like a schoolboy, I don’t know, but I’m hankering for something special. My birthday’s coming up next week, and this is kind of a present for myself.”

  “Ah, yes. Next Wednesday, isn’t it?”

  I was surprised he knew. “Yes. So are there any places you would recommend?”

  He smiled and nodded. “I think you can’t do better for something special than Louis Boston. I have an account there. In fact . . . tell you what. I admit this is rather a tacky way to do this, and I want you to know that I have been considering what you might want without landing on anything. So here’s a suggestion: I’ll take you shopping, and you can get whatever you want.”

  I was going to say no, thanks, because this was not how I had pictured my shopping trip. But very quickly I realised that if this worked out, I would have automatic approval from Brian for anything I bought, and too bad if Mum didn’t like it. And if he proved too judgemental, I could just get one or two things with him and go back on my own. If it was just one store, that wouldn’t take me very long. So I said, “That might be fun. But—I was hoping to go this week. In fact, I was going to go today, during the day.”

  “No school?”

  “It’s that City course. I have all of Tuesday to wander around Boston and collect material for various reports.”

  “My only appointment today is at ten, so I could be free after that. If you have some work you can do for the morning, I could be ready to leave by eleven thirty, maybe earlier. Let’s have an early lunch at Sam’s—that’s the café they have on site—and then spend however much time after that for this expedition. I might even pick up a few things for myself. Sound good?”

  It sounded very good. I headed upstairs to my computer and went to the Louis Boston Web site. And it blew my mind. The clothes I saw would be absolutely ideal. A glance at my watch told me it was now nearly half eight, which gave me almost three hours.

  I decided that, at the store, I wanted the camouflage that my school garb would give me so I wouldn’t be judged by what else I might have on. Dressed in khakis, a blue shirt, and a regulation tie with the knot loosened, I grabbed a jacket and a messenger bag with a notebook and pens and headed out to the Old South Meeting House, which was central to the formation of Boston as an independent city. It was also very close to the Granary Burying Ground, which I thought would make an interesting sidebar item.

  I was home again by ten past eleven and found Brian in the kitchen with a pot of coffee. “I thought Mum had converted you to tea.”

  He grinned. “It’s a guilty pleasure.”

  A car had pulled up in front of the house by the time I’d dropped off my messenger bag upstairs. We got into the spacious backseat, and we were off. I asked, “Does Mum know we’re going out? I didn’t see her this morning.”

  “She’s at the Museum of Fine Arts, laying plans for one of Persie’s field trips.” He was silent for a moment, and then said, “You know, I was extremely reluctant to allow these trips. I’ve seen her fall apart over the simplest little things, and being out in public is always a huge stressor for her. I was quite angry with you for putting me in the position of the bad cop, as it were. But I’ve had to change my mind.”

  He shifted his position so he could look at me. “Maxine tells me that Persie has had a few nasty moments, but the most amazing thing has been happening. It’s as though she’s realised that if she can remain calm, or as calm as possible, she’ll continue to be allowed to do these outings. And she obviously loves something about them, though I haven’t zeroed in on anything other than the obvious yet. I mean, the art.”

  “I like Maxine.”

  “She thinks the world of you.”

  That felt better than I would have expected. “Has Persie asked for any other kind of outing yet?”

  He looked thoughtful, and said, “That hadn’t occurred to me. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised if she does.” He sat back again and asked a few general questions about school until the car pulled up in front of the store.

  It was not a location I would have expected. We had driven across a sort of wide canal towards a waterfront area, nowhere near the downtown shopping district. And from the moment we got out of the car, Brian was treated like royalty, and so was I by association. Evidently, he’d called ahead, because we were greeted by a fellow named Anton who said he’d be waiting to assist us as soon as we had finished lunch.

  The restaurant was very modern and looked out over the water. We had a great table near the window, and I had a warm spinach salad and a black peppercorn burger. Brian had them put the bill on his account, and by the time we got to the exit, there was Anton.

  It was everything I could do not to walk around with my jaw on my chest. The service was not surprising to me; Mum and I had sometimes shopped at upmarket places in London. But the clothes! Oh, my God.

  One close look at Anton told me I could put myself in his hands. Not only was I fairly sure he was gay, but also he had chosen items for himself that I would never have put together, but they worked. Beautifully.

  “I need a few outfits,” I told him. “I’m especially interested in looks that are unusual without being outlandish.” I was just trying to figure out how to tell Anton what I wanted for Saturday without embarrassing myself in front of Brian, when something caught Brian’s eye. I can’t be sure if he left us for a few minutes because he was truly interested in ties, or if he had the sensitivity to give me a moment alone with Anton. I grabbed the opportunity.

  “I also want at least two pairs of trousers that would be appropriate for a fun scene, like a party. Something formfitting?”

  Anton looked me up and down, and smiled. “I don’t think we’ll have any problem. Allow me to select a few looks for you while you browse?”

  I felt like Cinderella during the good times, and Anton was my fairy godmother. Or maybe that was Brian. Whichever, I walked out of there three hours later with more bags than I’d ever seen fro
m a single day of shopping, even though I had left three things there for alterations. There were shirts and jumpers—Anton called them sweaters—and jeans and trousers. I got a winter camel-hair coat with clean, classic lines, something I could wear for the rest of my life if I wanted to. One of my favourite items is a short jacket, a zipper-front shearling dyed to a dark moss colour with the pile cut very short so it’s soft and flexible. The collar falls far out onto my shoulders, almost cape-like. I didn’t need any more standard dress shoes, but I got a pair of ankle-high black shoes that lace almost like a hiking boot. And I got some black leather gloves lined in cashmere that fit like a second skin.

  Brian got a tie, some gloves, some socks, and he picked up a gorgeous silk scarf for Mum with white peonies amidst dark purple grapes on vines. I never saw a price tag, but we must have spent several thousand dollars.

  We were maybe halfway home when Brian said, “Do you know which items you’ll wear on Saturday?”

  So he knew, after all, that it was my evening with Luther that had inspired this spree. Fair enough. “I think blue jeans, that blue-and-white cotton shirt with the wide stripes on one side and narrow ones on the other and the white collar, and the dark brown leather sport coat.”

  “Luther will be proud to have you with him.”

  I glanced at Brian to see if he was having me on in some way, but he was gazing nonchalantly out the window.

  Ned was at the house by the time we got back. “Dinner might be a little late. I’ll just make sure the soup is on time for Miss Persie. But I have to see everything.” And he approved. Of everything.

  Later that evening, Mum somewhat reluctantly agreed to let me go out on Saturday, as I had expected would be the case, and of course she insisted on meeting Luther, but I had prepared him for that. I was sure Brian would be there as well.

  My Thursday session with Kay was pretty normal; no news on her parental front. Her father didn’t show up whilst I was there. I was glad for that; it was hard enough acting normal around Colleen.

  I talked with Dr. Metcalf about the mock spelling bee. In fact, there were two bees planned, both on Thursday evenings, 1 and 15 November. I told Kay the fliers were all over St. Bony and gave her a handful in case she wanted to let anyone at her school know.

  “Will I wear a dress?” she asked. “Kidding! But did you hear how I asked that, as though I were British? I mean, English?”

  I spent most of Saturday on schoolwork. Scratch that; I spent a lot of time trying to work. Made some progress, to be sure, but I was nervous as hell. And I spent at least some time reading online about Betrayal, which I’d never heard of.

  Around three or so my phone rang, and I was terrified it might be Luther, cancelling. But no.

  “Michael?” I said in response to his “Hey.” And then I asked, “Is your grandmother home yet?” I couldn’t think of any reason he’d ring me unless she wanted him to set up a date for me to visit her for dinner.

  “Next week, if all goes well. She asks after you.”

  “Please give her my best.” I prayed he wasn’t about to ask me to do more reading; I just didn’t have that kind of time any longer. I waited a few seconds, but he said nothing more. So I prompted, “Was there something else?”

  “A guy can’t call to say hi?”

  “He can if he also has more to say. The thing is, I’m rather short on time just now.”

  “And later?”

  “Later . . . today?”

  “I was thinking we could see a movie or something.”

  I nearly dropped the phone. “No, today’s not really good. I—”

  “Tonight, then?”

  About three heartbeats went by. “I have plans for tonight.”

  “Really.”

  I wasn’t going to say it, but there was something in his tone, something that had challenge or disbelief or both in it. “Dinner, and a play.”

  “Who with?”

  What nerve. I was going to say, “No one you know,” but he was irritating me on so many levels that it came out differently. “A man you don’t know.”

  “A . . . a man? Going out with a boy?”

  Now I was angry. “A man going out with me. Now, if that’s all, I have tons of schoolwork to finish this afternoon. Give your grandmother a hug for me. Bye.”

  I had to take a walk around the block to work off my irritation before I could settle back down to trying to work.

  Luther arrived at ten minutes of six: civilised; not appearing too eager. I was relieved to see that he, too, was wearing jeans. His leather jacket was black and buttery-looking, and when he took it off I noticed his green eyes for the first time; the dark green silk shirt must have made them stand out. He had loomed so large in my imagination that I had completely forgotten that he’s maybe two inches shorter than I am.

  There was an exchange in the living room in which Mum and Brian asked Luther questions that were polite but still obviously intended to help him understand that I am not alone in the world. Luther didn’t say anything that seemed to meet with disapproval, and his demeanour was, I think deliberately, less self-assured than it had been with me, which was a strategic approach to speaking with my captors. If Mum noticed that I had used the eye pencil again, she didn’t say so. I was given another midnight curfew. I draped a dusty blue muffler around my neck, and we were off.

  I was quite nervous in the taxi; didn’t know what to say or how to act. Luther might have picked up on this, because he talked casually about his family (in Michigan), his classes, and where he was considering going for graduate school (New York or LA). Only then did he ask about me, and he started with Oxford. I’d been thinking that he’d set the stage very carefully to help me understand that he was not looking for anything lasting, and that was fine with me.

  I told him, “I’ve known I wanted to go to Oxford for years. I was quite put out when I was forced to leave the UK without completing my college prep where I’d been going to school.”

  “Quite put out, were you?” He chuckled. Then, “So . . . just finishing college prep. You’re—how old?”

  Ah. The question I’d avoided at the party. He had me, and I grinned at him. “I’ll be seventeen next week.”

  “Happy birthday in advance, then.”

  At the restaurant, he paid the driver. Now, I want to go on record that I don’t expect to be escorted by a gentleman who always picks up the bill; however, given that with Michael I had paid for everything, Luther’s paying for the taxi was a refreshing change.

  The place looked like fun but not overly fancy, which I liked. I didn’t want to see Luther as trying too hard to impress me; that would have lowered him in my estimation, though I realise how awful that sounds—as if I’m not worth trying hard for. But it’s not that. It’s that trying too hard would have made me uncomfortable.

  The menu, as Luther had said, was directly out of that odd part of Europe that’s not quite Germany and not quite France. We couldn’t order wine, which was really too bad, but I asked for sparkling water with lime in stemware, and Luther enjoyed that.

  After we ordered, he asked, “What will you study at Oxford? Have you decided?”

  “I’ll be taking a fairly broad course, and it could change. I’m not aiming at any particular career yet, though I’m developing an interest in autism, and Asperger syndrome.” I have no idea where that came from; it more or less fell out of me. And it felt as though it fit—at least in the absence of anything else.

  “Really. That’s unusual, especially in someone your age. Any particular motivation?”

  My nervousness from the taxi ride was gone, and I spoke of my mother’s brother and then of Persie, doing my best to highlight the inroads I’ve made with her without crossing that line into bragging.

  “So,” I concluded, “it’s either that or a cat behaviourist.”

  Luther’s laugh was hearty and gratifying. He raised his glass, and I raised mine. He said, “Here’s to your noble aspirations.”

  We tal
ked for a bit about the play, and I didn’t let on that I’d read up about it today. “I haven’t seen it,” I admitted, “but I’m curious to see how the backwards time flow works. I’m not wild about plots that wreak havoc with timelines.”

  “No? I rather enjoy them. Maybe I like to be made to do a certain amount of guessing.”

  “Good to know. I’ll see what I can do to accommodate.”

  “Only a certain amount, please note.” He held my gaze as he sipped from his glass.

  “And you’ll get only a certain amount of accommodation.”

  He laughed and set the glass down. “Tell me something. Are you representative, do you think, of British youth? I find you so much more mature and interesting than even my peers at school.”

  “Not British, if you please, though officially that’s correct. I’m English.” I gave him a quick summary of the history of England over the past millennium or so, stressing the sophistication of the Norman “invaders” over the people they pretty much conquered.

  “And, of course,” he said, tilting his head sideways charmingly, “you’re from the Norman side of the house.”

  “Fitzroy. Yes. The Hunt family were nobility, just not peerage.” Which led to another summary, this time about how English titles work.

  “It sounds very confusing. And perhaps just understanding that convoluted hierarchy accounts for how smart you seem.”

  “Perhaps. Though another reason might be that most of my socialising has been with adults, not my peers.” I was damned if I was going to reveal my native intelligence quotient. He was bright, but chances are he’s nowhere near me. And I didn’t want that to matter to him, even if I never saw him again after tonight.

  We declined a sweet. Pudding. Dessert? Dessert. I said, “Will you allow me to buy you dinner?” His answer would say worlds.

  He hesitated for a couple of seconds before saying, “If you like.”

  That was the right answer. Sort of.