“I haven’t given up,” he told Olive. “I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been busy before. That never stopped you.”
“He’s a bigshot now,” Duke said.
“That job’s still waiting for you,” Robert said.
“I don’t want it.”
“When you work up the nerve to get the leg, come see me.”
“Won’t happen,” Duke said.
“You really think you are a bigshot,” Olive said. “Passing out jobs like some kingpin. Trading something for a job at your little sporting goods kingdom.”
Robert snickered, rubbed his hands, trying to cut away at her scorn. “It’s absolute power,” he said in a cackling, old man’s voice, “and it’s corrupted me absolutely.”
Olive said coldly, “That doesn’t hide the fact you think you’re hot shit.”
Robert shrugged and drank his coffee. He would only do so much to mollify her.
“Give Ethel a job,” Duke said. “Give her the job you’re holding for me.”
“She has a job.”
“She hates it,” Olive said. “She says her stomach knots every morning. Why should she have to get up at 5 a.m.? Give her a job, Mr. Bigshot.”
“She’d be bored,” Robert said.
“Driving a cab is exciting?”
“Ask her,” Duke challenged. “I bet she’ll jump at it.”
“Right now, we only have a spot open for a one-legged boy.”
“Fuck you,” Duke said dismally.
“It’s a great place to work. Ask Buzzer.”
“He says it’s a joke,” Duke jabbed. “He told me your dad sits and gabs all day while you prance around like Hitler, or somebody. He says it’s boring work and most of the kids goof off when you aren’t around.”
“That’s why there’s always opening for basket cases like you,” Robert said, his face warm.
“Why can’t you give Eth a job?” Olive asked.
“No openings.”
“No. Really.”
“Look—I want to be of some help to Duke. I’m willing to make a space for him. Ethel already has a job. I don’t think she would want to work for me.”
“Just ask her,” Olive said. “She might surprise you.”
Olive brought up the subject later that evening. “Mom—if you could find a better job than driving a cab, would you take it?”
Ethel looked at her daughter. It was nine o’clock on a Sunday evening. She sat with her legs out on a plumped hassock, a book in one hand, a can of beer in the other; she would be asleep soon, and already she was dreading the five o’clock bell.
“What a silly question,” she replied.
“That’s a yes?”
“Of course.”
Robert said, “They want me to give you a job at SportsHeaven.”
Ethel’s eyes turned hungrily to him. “What do you pay? Could I sleep past six-thirty? When do I start?”
Olive laughed and clapped her hands.
“There’s no opening,” Robert said. “It was only an idea put forth by your children to make trouble.”
“There’s an opening for me,” Duke said, “because I’m a crip and he can feel good giving me a job.”
Robert nodded gravely. “We do have one opening for a chickenshit.”
“I’m a chickenshit,” Ethel said.
“You’d really work for me?”
“If it got me out of the cab and paid enough, I’d come in a minute,” she said. Her gaze challenged him.
“No openings,” he repeated.
Ethel tipped up her beer to finish it. “Whatever you say, Boss.” Robert saw her wink at Olive. “But since you’re wielding a little minor power here, I’ll counter with some of my own. I want you out of here in a month.”
Robert asked, “And if I give you a job, I can stay?”
Ethel gave this some thought. “No,” she said. “I want you out, even if you give me a job.”
“Don’t be spiteful.”
“It’s not spite,” she replied. “I’m tired of having you around, living off Ben’s memory. You don’t even look for him anymore. I give you one month.” She crushed her beer can with hands grown strong wrestling balky cabs; a mouthful of beer remained at the bottom and splashed on her lap. She cursed.
Robert said, “I have paused in my search for Ben. I have not given up. When I am past this busy time at work I will resume my search for him. If you think it best that I leave, I’ll gladly go.”
“Where will you go?” Ethel asked.
“Already you’re worried about me. I could stay,” he said, “and ease all your cares.”
Ethel shook her head. She took her crushed can and wet lap out of the room. It was the last they saw of her that night. Olive went to bed alone; since her fall through the ice she complained of cold, but she never was so cold that she required Robert’s presence. All that time Robert slept a floor above her, their beds nearly parallel, rarely missing her except for those few moments after she broke away from him at night and climbed the stairs to her room.
She kissed Duke goodnight atop the head. She kissed Robert in the same spot; he was a brother now, almost a father.
ON ANOTHER DAY, Robert worked a surprise day shift to throw an off-balance note into the thieves in SportsHeaven. He caught no one, and in fact got little work done. He felt out of place in his own store. The employees resented his distrust. In the hour before he went home for a break (he was returning at closing time to do the books), he was called to the phone, only to have the caller hang up on him when he answered.
When he arrived to do the books, Buzz met him in the back room on his way to punching out.
“How’d it go tonight?” Robert asked; he felt conspicuous, at work in a plain shirt.
“We sold some stuff,” Buzz said. “Not much, but some.”
“Thanks for the report.”
“When’s your Dad going to give it up?”
Robert said, “I don’t know. I’ve talked to my mother. She won’t come out of retirement.”
Buzz rubbed his chin. “How can I break this to you?” he said. “The guy does nothing all night. He just talks. He won’t stock. He won’t sweep. He won’t do pricing. He just talks.” Buzzard glanced at Robert, cleared his throat.
“What would you do in my place?” Robert asked.
“Fire his ass,” Buzz exclaimed, nearly cheerful.
“Fire your own father?”
“I would if he was fucking up like yours.”
“He’s an idea man,” Robert said defensively. “He’s not geared toward this kind of work.”
Buzz shrugged. “I’ve said enough.” He pulled his ref’s shirt over his head and hung the shirt in his locker; no stripes ran on his taut, pale torso.
“Who’s going to be assistant manager?” he asked.
“Whom would you suggest?”
“Me, maybe.”
Robert resisted the desire to put the young man down, to extract his revenge for the remarks made about Dave.
“I’ll keep you in mind,” Robert said.
“I work hard. I’m a quick study. I’d be a good assistant manager.”
“How’s the arm?” Robert asked.
Buzz held his right arm out. To Robert’s eye it was microscopically thinner than the left, subtly wasted. Since punching Dick the day Robert fired him, Buzz’s arm had not ceased aching.
He put the arm through a slow throwing motion. “Stiff,” he reported. “Sore here and here.” He touched his shoulder and elbow.
“Healing takes time,” Robert said.
“That’s news?”
“My point is—you shouldn’t give up on your pitching career,” Robert said. “Don’t start plotting a career at SportsHeaven.”
“Why
not? I like it.”
“Don’t give up pitching,” Robert said, scared for the kid. “I didn’t know you were going to quit the baseball team. You’re too young for this place.”
“I’ve got a glass arm,” Buzz said casually. “I hurt it whether I throw baseballs or punches. I accept that. It’s time to move on to other things.”
“I won’t make you assistant manager.”
“Why not?”
“It would encourage you to stay here.”
“Where else am I going to go?” Buzz asked.
“Go to M.C. in the fall. Rest the arm, then go out for the team in the spring,” Robert said. “Maybe they’ll give you a ride.”
Buzz shook his head. He encircled his right wrist with his left hand. “I’m damaged,” he said. “I’m yours.”
HERM BRANCH ARRIVED at the hour Robert had been told to expect him.
“I like that you are always here,” Herm said, shaking Robert’s hand. “You aren’t planning to get married soon, I hope.”
“No.”
“Good. Marriage would cut your desire to be here in half. We’d both suffer.” He laughed. His thin-haired scalp was boiled red and peeling ribbony flakes of skin. He touched his head with his fingertips and set loose a small storm something like snow.
Herm inspected the figures Robert had spent four nights preparing. He took a seat and lit a cigarette.
“I call you, you’re here,” Herm said. “I drop in, you are here. I like that.” He touched the numbers with his cigarette hand. “A little better,” he grunted, shrugging.
“It adds up, Herm.”
“You’re doing better than Joe Marsh,” Herm said. “But is that saying much?”
“You tell me.”
“You’re touchy today,” Herm said. “I sensed this right away. What’s wrong?”
Robert said, “People don’t want to put their faith in summer by buying sporting goods.”
“I wonder why. Look at you. With that beard you look like something out of the ice age.” Herm laughed. “A wooly mammoth thawed and put to work here in SportsHeaven. You have a cold feel to you, Bobby. Ice water runs in your veins. It’s no wonder people don’t feel like buying a croquet set or a pair of water skis when they see you. They get cold just looking at you!”
Robert combed the thickness of his beard. Twice recently he had faced the mirror with scissors and razor, then turned away. Even in June’s heat he might be inviting trouble.
“Cut it off,” Herm said, “and in a couple months it will be time to grow it back. That’s winter. Always around the corner.” He folded the numbers for May away in his pocket.
Dave appeared in the back room, a striped apparition that nevertheless remained when Robert blinked his eyes. He had never noticed how much alike Herm and his father looked; the wiry obtuse energy, thin hair, ball-like paunch. Dave grabbed Herm’s hand and pumped, like one of the men who stopped Robert on the street to spend a few moments in his presence; loser and winner.
“My father,” Robert said.
“Is that right?” Herm said.
“Did you tell him my idea, Rob-O?”
“No.”
“What idea?”
“Put a bike rack in front of the store to draw kids,” Dave said enthusiastically.
“It’s a safety hazard,” Robert said. “It’ll attract kids, but kids don’t buy.”
Herm frowned at Robert. “A bike rack is lighthearted. It’s summer. Who cares if kids don’t buy?”
“You should,” Robert said angrily. His father shrank back, seeing the rift his harmless idea had opened.
“Even if I did let you tell me how to run my business, I’d tell you to shove it,” Herm replied evenly. “Kids are kids.”
“They steal you blind,” Robert said. “They goof around in the aisles.”
Herm lit another cigarette. “This attitude,” he said, “how long have you had it?”
“I don’t know,” Robert said. He wished his father would leave; with Dave present, nothing ever seemed to work.
“Some kids steal,” Herm nodded. “Most don’t. Most don’t buy, some do.” He said to Dave, “We put in the bike rack.” He said to Robert, “I want you to take some time off. Three days, starting now.”
“Who’ll run the store?”
“I will,” Herm said. “I started the damn thing. I can run it.”
“But—”
“No buts. Go home,” Herm said. “You’re always here and that’s not always a good thing. Shave your beard. Think sunny thoughts. Come back in seventy-two hours with the sun in your heart.”
Robert left the store without another word. A block away, he began to feel terrific; lacking an assistant manager, he had not had an entire day off in more than two months.
He walked to his parents’ house. His mother was mowing the lawn barefoot. Her long toes were capped with green stains, they wiggled while she talked to her son.
“Take him back,” Robert said.
“Who?”
“You know who. The idea man.”
“What for? He loves SportsHeaven. He loves working for you. He’d be heartbroken if he left.”
“You know that’s not true,” Robert said. “He hates being away from you for such a stretch. He doesn’t do anything at the store but talk.”
“Fire him,” his mother suggested, her words eerie, the sentiment, too.
“If you took him back he’d quit in an instant,” Robert said. “All my problems would be solved.”
“Yours maybe,” she said dryly. She pushed the mower up a row and back. The yard was small; along the walk were rows of flowers, an organization of golds, crimsons, violets, greens. Most reminded Robert of the bells of trumpets.
His mother said, “You think I liked running your father’s life all those years?”
Robert only wanted his father out of his hair; he did not want this. “I don’t know, Mom. But now I’m asking you to take him back. He’s lost without you—” His mother grinned at that notion. “I’m lost with him,” he added.
She ran her thumbs along the polished mower handles. “What would we sell?” she asked offhandedly.
“Hell, cigars! Cigar’s cigars. It’s a natural.”
“Don’t think he hasn’t thought of it.”
“Las Palmas. El Fecundos. Havanas. Brand names. He’d love it, come home smelling like a tinder box,” Robert said. He watched his mother to see if any of his enthusiasm was catching.
She went away again with the push mower. The sound the machine produced was a childhood sound, the blade clicking against the guard in its revolutions. She cut straight rows, the cut grass paler than the uncut grass beside it, as if each blade in being cut had been emptied. His mother was so good and intent at the job it killed Robert’s hope; she liked being free of her husband, of the failed store. Why should she agree to take them back?
“Take him back,” Robert said when she returned, “or I’ll fire him.”
She patted his hand. “Don’t make threats you have no intention of carrying out,” she said.
“If I fire him, will you take him back?”
“No,” Evelyn said. “He will drift off to a seat somewhere with coffee plentiful and somebody to talk to.”
“He needs you.”
“About as much as I need him,” she said. “Ask him. With that job to go to, see if he doesn’t enjoy his time away from me. He’s growing up.”
Robert kissed his mother’s cheek. It was slack, felt empty. He would let her go. He said, “He had an idea to put a bike rack in front of the store. Herm liked it and told me to take three days off. Dave may be in charge when I get back.”
“That is a good idea,” his mother said.
“It’ll draw kids.”
Evelyn laughed and scrunched her f
ace into the mask of a much older woman. “What an old fuddy-duddy you are,” she assessed. “ ‘It’ll draw kids.’ What a horrible thing to say.”
“They rob me blind.”
“Your imagination,” she said.
“You won’t take him back?”
She shook her head. “In fact, I’m getting nibbles on the store. It could be rented any time.”
“It’s a killer location,” Robert said. “Who’d be fool enough to move in there?”
“You’re so positive,” his mother said. “That’s what I like about you.”
HE POSITIONED A towel over the bowl of the sink to protect the drain, then chopped away at his beard with a pair of sharp scissors. Whiskers fell in clumps and in odd ribbons like fences that dissolved as they fell. Little by little a stranger swam out at him from the mirror. A man with a narrower face than he remembered, and a weaker chin. A man with paler eyes and the faint impression of swollen lips.
Cold air touched his face in wet swirls. The shaving took an hour. He sneezed. He had planned to leave a mustache, but at the last instant hacked it off. Tap water on his face felt silver and cold. The skin he could reach with the tip of his tongue had a burred, scraped feel.
Leaving the bathroom, heading for the stairs to the fourth floor (where he would shake his towel load of whiskers out the window into Ben’s tree), he surprised Ethel in her robe heading for the shower. She seemed not to recognize him, but smiled slightly at the space before her, then went into the bathroom and locked the door. Perhaps he could trick her into thinking he was someone else, and thus allow him to remain past his deadline.
But when he was in his room getting into his wet suit she knocked at his door. He could hear the tub filling downstairs.
“Have you found a place to move to?” she asked, not unkindly.
“No.”
“Have you looked?”
“Oh yes. All over.”
“Well . . . I doubt that. But listen, I mean it, you have only twenty-six days left.”
“I’ll be out,” Robert said. “Maybe early.”
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