Circles

by Marilyn Sachs

  “Okay, okay, not bad,” Mrs. Kronberger said. “Now, scram—you Jennifer, only you! And let’s all take a few minutes’ break, and start up from the beginning. I want all the kids in act one, scene one, to take their places up on the stage. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Beebe rose and began moving towards the stage. If she had eaten her sandwich outside with Wanda and Leslie, or if he hadn’t been in the lunchroom just at that moment when Mr. Ferguson had his seizure ... so many ifs.

  The cast was assembling on the stage—the two Capulet servants, the one Montague servant, Benvolio, Tybalt, assorted citizens, police, Capulet and Lady Capulet, Montague and herself, Lady Montague (with only two speaking parts—even Lady Capulet had more than that), the Prince, and, finally, Romeo.

  He was clowning around on the stage with some of the other boys. A few of them were whirling their wooden swords around, and Dave dove across the stage, chasing Fred Gee/Tybalt and nearly bumping into her.

  “Oops,” he said, steadying himself by putting a hand on her arm.

  She laughed nervously.

  Dave’s face was pink, and his eyes shone. “I nearly knocked over my mother.” He bowed to her. “Forgive me, my dear Mother,” he said, already focusing on Tybalt, who was jabbing him with his sword, “while I go take care of this cursed Capulet.”

  This was one of those times that Beebe should have been ready with some funny or charming words that would attract his attention.

  “Oh, that’s okay,” she said, and watched as he chased Tybalt across the stage.

  Chapter 4

  His father handed him a broom. “The first thing,” he said, “is to sweep out the toilet. Every new worker gets broken in that way.”

  Joe and Kelly, the two part-time college boys who worked for his father on Saturdays, laughed, and Kelly said, “That’s why I’m so glad you’re low man on the totem pole, Mark. Now I’m off the hook.”

  Mark smiled and tried to look pleased. Not that he liked the idea of sweeping out the toilet. But he didn’t dislike it either. And he liked having his father treat him just like any other of his workers.

  He took the broom, and went off to the back of the store. The floor of the toilet looked pretty clean to him, but he started sweeping anyway. His father came and stood at the door. ‘That’s the first thing I had to do when I came to work here. The boss, Mr. Altobelli, he said to me, ‘You’ve got to sweep your way out of the toilet before you learn anything else.’ “

  “That’s okay, Dad,” Mark said, moving the broom behind the door to show his father he intended to be thorough.

  “Attaboy,” said his father, patting him on the back. “We’re going to have a great time together—you and I.”

  “Sure thing, Dad,” Mark said, trying to sound enthusiastic. And he did feel enthusiastic, he thought, pushing the broom behind the toilet. There wasn’t much room there, but he poked at it with the corner of the broom and managed to dislodge a clump of dust.

  “Garden hoses?” he heard his father say behind him. “You passed them on your way in. Come with me, and I’ll show you where they are.”

  Mark finished sweeping, and then began wandering around the store. His father had told him to start learning where everything was. Paints and painting supplies over on the left-hand side in front of the electrical supplies. Housewares in the front. Plumbing supplies in the back. Pipe threader in the center …

  “Mark,” his father called out, “will you give Kelly a hand carrying out the cans?”

  He and Kelly carried some green plastic trash cans outside the store, and then Kelly showed him where he should display them. “We need to bring out the galvanized cans, too, some garden chairs, and the carpet-cleaning machine.”

  But then Joe had to go deliver some paints, and Mark’s father called Kelly inside to make a set of keys for a customer. So Mark carried out the other trash cans, the garden chairs, and the cleaning machine by himself. He wasn’t sure whether the cleaning machine was supposed to go next to the trash cans or on the other side of the garden chairs. Kelly hadn’t said, and he felt foolish about asking. He wandered back into the store and waited for further orders. Kelly was busy at the key machine making up some duplicates for an older woman. She was telling him why she needed extra keys, and he was trying to look interested.

  “... so my son thinks maybe he’ll stay with me now for a couple of months until he finds a job. I don’t mind. It’s nice to have the company. But then he tells me this morning that a friend of his is coming down from Portland who wants to be an actress. A girl, you see. He says she’s just a friend, but he wants me to have a whole set of keys made up for her. I said to him, ‘Why don’t you have them made up. She’s your friend. I’m your mother, not your slave.’ So then he says ...”

  Mark’s father was in the back, showing window shades to another customer. Mark began walking up and down the aisles again, trying to memorize where things were. Weather stripping, water beater blankets, nuts and bolts... His father, carrying a couple of shades and followed by the customer, smiled at him and headed towards the front of the store. “Just look around, Mark, and later I’ll show you how to work the cash register. As soon as things quiet down.”

  It took a while before they did. Mark kept wandering up and down the aisles. Towel racks, two-by-fours, power tools ... He never realized one small hardware store would carry so many different items. Doorknobs, paintbrushes, light bulbs ... Well, right now it seemed overwhelming but his memory was excellent. Didn’t he know all the principal constellations and all of the important stars in the solar system? Probably, in a few weeks, he’d know where everything was in the store.

  Wire, locks, hand tools, pot holders , , , You had to be patient, and soon everything would fall into place. School, for instance. It had taken him nearly a week to find his way around. All of his classes seemed to be so far apart, and there were so many kids, and he didn’t know a single one of them. Saws, ant killer, window sprays... A hard tug of homesickness rocked him, and he put out an arm to steady himself against a shelf of cookie tins. He thought of Gilbert Jennings and Jim Turner. He’d never thought of them as close friends, but now he missed them. And he thought of Cindy Rhinehart.

  He and Cindy had been friends for a couple of years. They used to spend a lot of time together. Once he’d even gone backpacking with Cindy and her family, and a couple of times she’d slept over at his house (in Marcy’s room) when they studied math together. She was a real math whiz, and whenever he needed any help she was always there.

  He liked Cindy, and he knew she liked him. But nothing else ever happened. They walked a lot together. They talked and listened to one another. But nothing romantic ever happened. Maybe if he’d stayed in San Leandro their feelings for each other would have changed. She was exactly the kind of girl he liked—he should have liked—smart, serious, and pretty, too, in a careless way. But, of course, he thought quickly, it didn’t really matter what she looked like.

  Doorman, spot removers, wire shelves ...

  “You’re Mark Driscoll, aren’t you?” the girl said.

  She was standing in the aisle, just in front of him, as he came towards her.

  “Uh—yes.” She was tall with long blonde hair and big blue eyes. He recognized her from one of his classes.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, smiling at him in a friendly, comfortable way. His homesickness began to fade.

  “I work here,” he told her. “I mean, I just started today. This is my father’s store.”

  “No kidding!” she said. “I’ve been coming here for years. I live right around the corner, but I never saw you here before.”

  “Well ...” Mark began, and smiled. He guessed he would have to tell her that his parents were divorced, and he’d been living with his mother, but now he was with his father, and maybe he and she could ...

  A guy came around the aisle. “Oh, there you are, Jenny. Did you find the lighter fluid?” He put an arm around the girl’s shoulder
, and she said to Mark, “This is my boyfriend, Dave Mitchell. Dave, this is Mark Driscoll. He’s in my Spanish class, and in my English class too.”

  “How you doin’, Mark?” Dave held out a hand, and Mark took it and gave it a quick shake.

  “We’re having a cookout at my house tonight,” Jennifer said. “The weather turned so warm we suddenly decided to invite a bunch of our friends over, and just stuff our faces.”

  “Oh, that sounds great,” Mark said, feeling left out and trying hard not to show it.

  “Why don’t you come too?” Jennifer added. “We could use a few more guys.”

  “Well ... I don’t know. I have to work until six.”

  “His father owns the store,” Jennifer explained to Dave.

  “No kidding,” Dave said. “I come in here lots of times but I’ve never seen you here before.”

  He was going to have to explain. Both of them were looking at him—smiling and waiting.

  “My parents are divorced,” he said. “I’ve been living with my mother, but now I’m living with my dad.”

  “So that’s why we’ve never seen you around,” Jennifer said. “Well, you come after work. You’ll meet a whole bunch of nice kids. There’s Robin Vargas and Todd Merster and Carole Yin and Frank Jackson.... Do you know any of them?”

  “I think Todd Merster is in my P.E. class.”

  “He’s a kick,” Jennifer said, “and the girls are nice too. I should tell you that most of them are in the Drama Club. They’ll be in the school play next spring. Are you interested in acting? We need a few more guys.”

  “No,” Mark said quickly, “I’m not interested in acting. I never was.”

  “Well, never mind,” Jennifer said. “You’ll like the kids. Some of the girls are really cool.”

  “I’ll say,” Dave laughed, and rolled his eyes around. Jennifer bumped him with her hip. He bumped her with his, and the two of them began tussling. Mark tried to look away. Floor wax, mops, broom handles ...

  Finally, Jennifer began talking again, a little breathlessly. “Wanda Bedrosian is coming—she’s Lady Capulet in the play, and Rebecca Chin—she’s a lot of fun—and Mollie George and ...”

  “And that cute, little, dark girl with the big eyes. What’s her name? She plays my mother in the play,” Dave said. “Did you ask her?”

  “Beebe Clarke—that’s right. She’s coming, and Dome Ferguson. Do you know her?”

  Mark didn’t know any of the girls, but he said he’d try to come if his father didn’t need him. Jennifer gave him her address, and he watched as she and Dave walked out of the store, hand in hand. Maybe he would call Cindy tonight just to see how she was. Hadn’t she said to him before he left, “Keep in touch”?

  Maybe if she was free, he could go home tomorrow, to his mother’s, that is. But no, his father had tickets to a ‘49ers game, and he was going. Well, he could still give Cindy a ring tonight, just to see how she was. He could call her before he went to Jennifer’s party—if he went to Jennifer’s party. He didn’t know any of the kids, and all of them were into acting anyway. He didn’t think he’d have anything in common with a bunch of kids who liked to act.

  Things began to quiet down in the store, and his father taught him how to use the cash register. He felt better once he learned the cash register, and, after a while, his father didn’t have to hang around watching him ring up the sales. That was even better.

  At two o’clock, his father said, “Come on, Mark, we’ll go have some lunch.”

  Kelly took his place at the cash register, and Mark followed his father out of the store, up the block, and into a small coffee shop.

  “Eat whatever you like, Mark,” said his father. “You earned it today.”

  “I didn’t do that much,” Mark protested, but still he was pleased that his father approved of his work. They both ordered hamburgers, and while they waited for their order his father talked about his plans for Mark.

  “Later, I’m going to have you unpack some of the electrical supplies, and maybe next week I’ll teach you how to make keys....”

  Mark hoped his father would tell him he could do the deliveries, but his father went on to talk about mixing paint and threading pipe and didn’t say anything about driving the van.

  Their hamburgers arrived. They both began eating, and then his father said suddenly, “Oh, Mark, about tomorrow.”

  “Right, Dad,” he said, trying to sound pleased. “It’s the big Forty-niner game. I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Well, listen, Mark. I know I promised to take you, and I know you’re going to be disappointed, but, hey, it’s a long season. I’ll get tickets for another game.”

  Mark couldn’t believe his good luck. “What happened?” he asked.

  His father smiled foolishly. “I asked somebody else.”

  “Lauren?”

  “No, no, not her. I told you I’m finished with her.” His father shook his head emphatically. “This is somebody else, somebody in another league altogether.” He took a bite of his hamburger and chewed it reflectively. Mark waited.

  “Her name is Barbara—and she’s ... well, she’s different. I mean, not in a bad way—just different for me.” His father held the hamburger in his hand and looked at Mark, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Did you just meet her, Dad?” Mark asked, trying to help his father along, trying to show him that it was okay for him to go out and to talk about it with his son who was sixteen and a half.

  His father nodded gratefully, and leaned forward. “You remember the pair of shoes I was trying to return to that fancy shoe store downtown? I told you about that, and about how they didn’t want to give me my money back. Remember?”

  “Oh, sure, Dad. The pair Lauren bought?”

  “Right. Well, the first time I went there, I had to speak to the assistant manager of the store, and she kept saying no, I couldn’t get my money back. Only a credit. You know me, Mark, I don’t take no for an answer. I noticed she was kind of pretty even though she was sort of ... well ... uptight.”

  “Is she Barbara?”

  “Yes, but wait! Let me tell you what happened.” His father grinned, and took another bite of his hamburger. Mark watched as he chewed it. His father had red hair, just like his, and it curled over his forehead, making him look much younger than his age, forty-two. He was a good-looking man, with bright, eager green eyes and a smile that twisted up on one side. It was twisting up now as he laid down his hamburger and continued.

  “I went back the next day, and tried to get her to have lunch with me. I figured what’s twenty bucks when I’ll get back two hundred and fifty. She said no. But she said it in kind of a sorry way, like she wished she could have said yes. But she still said no about the refund. So yesterday, I went down again. By now it was getting to be fun, and both Kelly and Joe were able to work in the store. So this time, I got all dressed up in a tie and a shirt, and just sort of ambled into her place around twenty to twelve. I could see she was happy to see me. She tried not to show it, but she came over, and she had a hard time not smiling. ‘You certainly are persistent,’ she said. ‘And I tell you what— you don’t have to take me out to lunch. I’ve decided to give you a refund before you spend a fortune on gasoline.’ “ His father grinned. “Real sharp, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, sure, Dad,” Mark said.

  “Well, I told her I wanted to take her out to lunch, and if she said no, I’d just keep coming back, and her conscience would bother her because I would spend a fortune on gasoline.”

  Now his father laughed, and Mark laughed along with him. He wondered what this new one was going to be like. He hoped she wouldn’t be anything like Lauren.

  “She picked the place. You know some of them down there are out of sight. But she picked a nice, quiet, reasonable kind of place. And I enjoyed myself. She’s ... she’s ... different. She’s smart, and she’s ... educated ... but she’s not stuck up ... and she ... well, she’s pretty but she hardly uses any makeup, and
she was just wearing a plain blue dress—nothing fancy. She’s kind of small—you know I usually like tall women, but this one’s small and sort of delicate. I don’t know....”

  His father still had that puzzled look on his face, and Mark said encouragingly, “So she’s a Forty-niner fan too?”

  “Oh, no,” said his father. “She hates football.”

  “But isn’t she the one you’re taking to the game?”

  “Yes,” his father answered, grinning again, “and that’s why this is all so ... well, different and fun. She said she hated competitive sports, and I told her it’s because she just doesn’t understand. She said she loved going to the theater, and she’s especially crazy about Shakespeare. I told her what I thought about Shakespeare, and she said it’s because I don’t understand. I tell you, Mark, this is a first for me. So we agreed— she’ll come with me to the game, and then I have to go with her to see a Shakespeare play.” His father shook his head. “I tell you, this lady is one of a kind.”

  “She sounds real nice, Dad,” Mark said. “And to tell you the truth, I really don’t like football games either.”

  His father didn’t pay any attention to what he said. “She has a daughter,” his father continued. “I think she goes to your school. Her name is Beatrice—Beatrice Clarke. Maybe you know her.”

  “No, Dad, I don’t think so.” Mark decided he’d call Cindy as soon as he got home from the store that night. If she was free tonight maybe he’d go back to San Leandro to see her, and then he could spend tomorrow with his mother. He guessed he’d have to take BART. His father was going to need the van tomorrow to go to the game.

  Cindy wasn’t at home, and neither was his mother. His father was watching TV, and he felt restless and just a little sorry for himself.

  “Dad,” he said, “could I borrow the van?”

  “Sure,” said his father, throwing him the keys. He didn’t ask him where he was going, but Mark told him anyway. “This girl in my class is having a cookout tonight, and she asked me to come.”