by Chris Kenry
He smiled and gave me a playful sock in the arm. I closed my Day-Timer and we stood grinning at each other, not wanting to part. Slowly we sauntered up Sixteenth Street.
“Why don’t you ...” I began. “Naw, never mind.”
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“No, come on, what?”
“I was just thinking, maybe you’d want to go, too. To dinner, I mean.”
“With your parents?”
“Well, yeah. You’ll like them, I think. We can tell them all about the gallery now that it looks like it’s actually going to happen.”
He thought about it silently for a moment. I could tell it made him nervous, and it was rare to see him that way.
“Well, yeah, I guess,” he said, and swallowed hard. “Why not?”
“Great! I’ll meet you at the office a little after seven and we can go from there.”
The rest of the afternoon flew by. I performed my tricks, and then sped over to the microbusiness class, where we had a group interview with the reporter from the Denver Business Daily. The interview was fairly innocuous, until the reporter, a skinny weasel of a man with half glasses, started scheduling times to follow us around.
“I’ll be just like your shadow for a few hours,” he said, and went around the room, smiling as he penciled us into his Day-Timer. When he got to me, I hesitated. Both he and Tina looked at me expectantly. I knew she was proud of my progress and thought that this would be good press for her program. Little did she know. I slowly flipped through my own Day-Timer, trying—and failing—to think up some excuse not to do it.
“Um ... hmmm ... Well, let’s see, what about next Thursday?” I asked, wondering what the hell I was going to show him.
“That sounds great,” he said. “Eight A.M. all right?”
I nodded.
“Oh, and I understand you and some of the other students have collaborated on a few projects. I’d love to hear about them,” he said, looking around the circle. “Especially this exercise video that you and Mr. Varga have been working on.”
I looked across at Salvatore, his eyes widened to the size of golf balls, and he gave a nervous little laugh. Sharise and Millie were also wide-eyed, expressions of dread on their faces. Antonio and Victor slowly lowered their sunglasses.
“I’d love to get a copy of it,” the reporter said.
“I think we all would,” Tina said proudly.
“Sure,” I said, my voice cracking.
When I finally got away, I ran some papers to the realtor and picked up more papers for Ray and Hole to sign, and then quickly drove over to the new building, where Antonio and Victor were waiting patiently. We went inside and I showed them the plans Ray and I had sketched out. I then gave them a check for the deposit, a key, and the alarm code.
“We closed on the place today, so you can start anytime,” I said. They nodded, and Victor folded up the check, placed it in his shirt pocket, and then placed the key on a large key ring attached to his belt. As we stood on the sidewalk, having just locked up, Antonio put his arm on my shoulder, lowered his glasses, and regarded me over the tops of the frames.
“Listen, homie,” he said, his voice low, “we don’t know what kind of business you’re really running, but what are you gonna do about that reporter?”
I shrugged my shoulders and gave a bothered grumble. “I have no idea.” We turned and headed up the street.
“It sucks, man,” Antonio added, spitting in the gutter. Victor nodded his agreement.
“I mean, we ain’t been pullin’ permits, and we do all this work under the table. The last thing we need is for some building inspector to see a story about us and get curious.”
“I hear you,” I said. “But it’s only going to get worse at graduation. With Sister Melanie and the governor speaking, I don’t think it’s going to be a small ceremony.”
“Shit,” he said, and kicked at the pavement.
“Hey, if it’s any consolation,” I said cheerfully, “I think I’ll be in more trouble than either of you.”
They both laughed, albeit anxiously. We arrived at their truck, said good-bye, and I watched them drive away. I looked at my watch. Six o’clock. I looked around suspiciously, walked around the block once, and then crossed the street and walked to my car. I desperately wanted to work out to relieve some of the tension, but I was so busy then that I was lucky if I had one or two days a week for even an hour-long workout.
When I arrived at my apartment there was another small package sitting on top of the mailboxes. It was addressed to me but there was no return address. I picked it up, went into my apartment, and opened it, thinking sadly that it had probably been over a month since I’d even spoken to Andre. The package contained a videotape of the French movie Belle de Jour—the one in which Catherine Deneuve is a respectable housewife who spends her days secretly working in a bordello.
I looked at my blank expression in the mirror. I had a choice: I could be offended or I could laugh. I wavered between the two for a moment, reflecting that I’d often chosen the former when I received these packages, but then I smiled.
And I was still smiling until I pulled up to the office and saw a car that looked an awful lot like my father’s, parked right next to the red hearse.
It can’t be, I thought as I ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Please, God, it can’t be. I reached the office and reached for the handle but then stopped suddenly and pressed my ear to the door. I could hear voices, and my mother’s twangy laugh.
Shit! I took a deep breath, calmly smoothed back my hair, straightened my shirt, and cleared my throat. I opened the door, trying to appear calm and relaxed and only pleasantly surprised.
My parents were sitting on the waiting room couch, my mother deep in conversation with a leather-bedecked Marvin on the subject of asters, a huge vase of which rested on the table in front of them and very nearly concealed the issues of Torso and Inches beneath it. My father was busy talking on his phone, obviously to a business associate, and Ray was sitting on the front of the desk looking handsome but stricken, in a dark green crushed-velvet shirt, his only piercings in his ears and one eyebrow. His expression relaxed somewhat when he saw me.
“Mom, Dad,” I said, trying to sound natural, but again hearing my voice creak. “I ... I ... I thought we were meeting at the restaurant.”
“Well, we were,” my mother said, rising and moving forward to give me a hug, “but the asters are so beautiful this year, and they’re one of the few things the dogs haven’t dug up yet, so I thought I’d bring you some.”
“Thanks,” I said, admiring the pink and purple blossoms. “They look great.”
“And we’ve never seen your office, sweetie, and Chet here has been so nice.”
Marvin smiled and tilted his head coyly to one side.
“Oh, and listen, before I forget,” she said, tapping the side of her head. “Your father and I are going out of town for a few days. He’s got some business in New York and I’m going to tag along because there’s a dog show I want to see, so would you mind maybe going by the house once or twice? Carey said she’d take care of the dogs, but she’s so busy, and well, I’d just feel better if you’d be the backup.”
“Sure, no problem. When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow,” my father answered, lowering the antenna on his phone and replacing it in the inside pocket of his suit coat.
“Love your security system,” he said, rising and patting the stuffed shepherd that sat in front of the desk on which Ray was seated. “Wish your mother’s beasts were this well behaved.”
There was a thud in room one and then a long, drawn-out moan. We all looked at the door and I watched, horrified, as my father walked over to it and cupped his ear. More moaning.
“What do you do to these poor guys, Ray?” my father asked jokingly.
Ray looked up, terrified, and then looked to me for help.
“Sounds like he’s being stretched
on the rack in there.”
“No,” Marvin said lightly. “We keep the rack in room two, next to the Catherine wheel, ah ha ha ha.”
“Ha ha ha ha,” we all laughed daintily.
“Can we have a little tour?” my mother asked, rising and looking around.
“Yeah, give us the tour, Ray?” my father chimed in, putting his arm amiably around Ray’s shoulder.
My father’s philosophy regarding shy or nervous people was that if you said their name often enough and brought them into every conversation, you were helping them to feel more at ease. Unfortunately, this tactic had the opposite effect on Ray, who visibly flinched every time my father called out his name or slapped him on the back, which was about once every fifteen seconds.
“Maybe we’d better get going,” I said, tapping my watch, wanting more than anything to get them out of the building. “The reservation’s for seven-thirty.” Ray nodded eagerly.
“Nonsense! Give us the tour, Ray.”
“Uh, I think all the rooms are occupied now,” Ray said, “and you know how people are. They get kind of embarrassed if we just bust in on them in the middle of their workout.”
“Oh, I know!” my mother agreed, nodding her head. “I used to take aerobics at that place over on Colorado Boulevard, the one with the big picture window, and I always hated how people would just stand there gawking like we were fish in some aquarium.”
“No one’s in room three,” Marvin chirped. “I’m using it later but my, uh, client doesn’t get here till eight. Why don’t you show them room three?”
Marvin, Marvin, Marvin, I thought, as I eyed him through narrow slits. Meddling Marvin. There’s a reason you never hold a job for long, isn’t there?
Reluctantly I led them all down the hall to room three. I tried to open the door but something was blocking it. I looked questioningly to Ray and Marvin, who just shrugged their shoulders. I pushed harder and whatever was in the way slid back some. I reached in, felt for the light switch, and turned it on. The room was full, almost floor to ceiling, of large cardboard boxes.
“What the... ?”
We pushed our way in, and without thinking, Ray pried open one of the boxes and looked inside. He quickly shut it again and looked up at me, his face white.
“What is it? What’s inside?” my mother asked curiously.
“What! Oh, just some equipment we ordered,” Ray said. “Remember the equipment we ordered?”
“Wha—? Oh, yes, yes,” I said, following his weak lead. “That equipment.”
“But you know, oh, no,” Ray said, looking back down at the closed box. “I’ll have to take this to the office and tape it shut right now while I’m thinking about it because ... because it’s the wrong color! We’ll have to ship it right back! Don’t open any of the others!” he cried, and darted out carrying the box.
I smiled calmly, backed out of the room, and then sprinted down the hall after him. When I got to the office and shut the door Ray opened the box and lifted out one of the very colorfully packaged copies of Missionary Positions, on which Ray and I were both pictured prominently in a variety of compromising poses.
“Oh, God!” I said, stuffing it back in the box and putting the box under the desk. “Let’s get out of here.” Ray nodded eagerly and together we walked back out into the hallway. We met my parents and Marvin halfway.
“I didn’t know you guys did massages, too,” Dad said.
I didn’t either, I thought, glaring at Marvin, who was now passing us with a load of boxes. He paused. “They saw the massage table,” he said, and then, enunciating every word, “The one with the sheets and the pillow.”
“Ahh, yes, yes,” I said. “Marv—Chet here is quite the masseuse. Just look at the time! We really had better go.” And together Ray and I herded my parents down the stairs and out the door.
When we got to the restaurant, Ray and I quickly ordered and downed two martinis, and were just beginning to relax and look over the menu when my mother said, “Oh, look, honey, over there, someone’s waving at you.”
I followed her gaze and saw Vince and Burl sitting at a table across the room.
“Look, Ray,” I said, draining my glass and returning their wave weakly. “Vince and Burl.”
“It’s so nice seeing a father and son out together,” my mom observed, smiling broadly at the two men. I snorted in spite of myself and peered over the top of my menu at Ray, who was biting his lip.
“Is your family from around here?” she asked, looking at Ray. I set down my menu and looked at him too, feeling both curious and embarrassed. We had known each other nearly a year now and not once had I asked about, or had he mentioned, his family. He gazed down at the table.
“No, I grew up on the West Coast,” he said. “California.”
“Are your parents still out there?” she asked. Again he hesitated.
“My dad might be. I’ve never met him. My mom died when I was three.”
“Oh, I am sorry,” she said, reaching across the table and giving his gloved hand a little pat.
My father and I were both interested now.
“I’ve been on my own pretty much since I was thirteen,” Ray said, “and made it out here about three years ago.”
“Incredible!” my dad said, shaking his head. “Well, you seem to be a very fine young man.”
I looked at Ray, sitting there, his face crimson from all the attention, and thought that my father was certainly correct—he was a very fine young man, and only then was I beginning to appreciate him.
“I’m glad you think so,” I said, seizing the opportunity to jump into the gallery topic, “because Ray and I are going to be business partners.”
We then told them all about our idea, and the loan, and the space and our plans for it, and they both listened attentively, my father playing devil’s advocate as usual. But Ray and I had done our homework well, and either he or I had a ready response to any of the questions he threw our way.
Later, after dinner, when we took them down to show them the building and had walked them around explaining all of our plans, I saw something like pride in my father’s expression. The same expression I’d seen when Carey had announced her acceptance to medical school.
“You guys financed this all by yourself?” he asked, looking around.
“We’ve got a friend,” I said. “The guy who helps me with all my financial paperwork, to cosign with us. That helped us get a lower interest rate, but we could probably have done it ourselves. We put together the business plan ourselves, and that’s really what got us the loan.” He nodded and looked around. Then he came over, between Ray and I, and put an arm over each of our shoulders.
“Good work,” he said.
And for the first time in my life I felt that my father and I were two adults, seeing each other at eye level. Unfortunately, it was not a feeling I would savor for long.
When my parents left, and we returned from walking them out to their car, Ray went into the back room and emerged a few moments later, a bottle of champagne in one hand, and a boom box in the other. He pushed play and the smooth voice of a young Sinatra (Frank, not Nancy) echoed through the room. He popped open the champagne, poured some into two Styrofoam cups, and handed one to me.
“To the first of what will hopefully be many joint ventures,” he said, raising his cup.
“It’s really the second joint venture,” I corrected. “Harden Up was the first, remember?”
“Okay, okay.” He nodded and kissed me. “To the first of what will hopefully be many legitimate joint ventures.”
“I will toast to that,” I said. We both took a sip of champagne. He pulled me close to him and we moved slowly to the music. Over his shoulder I surveyed the vast, empty gallery-to-be and thought about how right it all felt. It was legitimate. It was honest. I thought about Ray then, too, as I felt him gently swaying back and forth in my arms, and realized that it felt right. He felt right. The two of us together felt right. I moved my mouth up nex
t to his ear and whispered, “I think ... I love you.” He said nothing but turned his face toward mine, looked into my eyes, and smiled.
We danced and drank and kissed the night away and, well, let’s just say that it was one of those times I’ll always look back on through the Vaseline-covered lens. I’m glad I enjoyed it, because what happened next nearly destroyed it all.
26
The “What” That Happened Next
Inevitably, the dreaded Thursday rolled around and I met with Noah Bernstein, the reporter from the Denver Business Daily. I did everything possible to keep him away from the office, since the subs and clients would be coming and going all day long and I thought the presence of a reporter might make them all a little nervous. We met there briefly, early in the morning, but then I quickly steered him away and took him to a health-food restaurant for a long breakfast.
“Most important meal of the day,” I said, lingering over my bagel and slowly sipping my orange juice, struggling to pass the time with some mundane fitness chatter. Later, we went to the gym and in spite of his protests, I got him suited up and had him join my morning workout with Marvin.
“This is my regular workout partner, Chet,” I said to Noah. “Chet, this is Noah. He’s going to observe us today and see how we operate.” Marvin smiled, heartily shook Noah’s hand, and we started on some stretching. We’d scarcely gotten started when my pager went off. I glanced down at it and saw that it was an emergency page from a number I didn’t immediately recognize. That didn’t alarm me much, since the guys had taken to crying wolf for such “emergencies” as needing an advance on their pay for the weekend, or to tell me they were going to be late for appointments. I figured I’d better answer it anyway.
“Why don’t you show Noah the inversion boots,” I said to Marvin, and then excused myself to go use the pay phone in the locker room. I dialed the number and James answered on the first ring.