“That was something,” I said.
“That was something.”
“Maybe we should cut our losses and head back?”
“We can’t just go home after that! It won’t have been worth the trouble. Drive me somewhere. Show me your life or something.”
“My life?”
“Give me a tour. Just watch out for plows.”
The comic shop was on the first floor of a two-story building. Its upstairs neighbor was a family dentist. Bloody-mouthed boys let loose on the action figures by their moms as a reward for good behavior were big customers at Golden Age Comics. (Simon, the owner, was a collector/historian and had named his store after the oldest and most valuable books.) Beside Golden Age on the first floor was a Copy Cop, and above that the offices of a small law firm. Light from a floodlight shined down from the eaves of the building but all the windows in all the businesses were dark. The sidewalk looked like it’d been shoveled about halfway into the storm. We trampled through the snow and up the three buried concrete steps.
“I’m excited,” Griff said.
I was too. It was like we were archaeologists, discovering this place.
I wiped the gauze of snow from the sign hanging beside the glass door. The O in Golden Age, yellow, was shaped like a word balloon, its point jutting off the sign and away from the other black letters in a 3D effect. The tip of the point had once pricked the finger of a nine-year-old customer, Sleeping Beauty–style. Now it was blunted with duct tape.
I unlocked the two locks, pushed open the door. The bell above the door jingled.
“Hold on a sec,” I said.
I flipped on the fluorescent lights—tink tink tink. On the wall beside the counter where the register sat was a glowing keypad. I mumbled the numbers as I punched the keys. The alarm chirped and released its grip on the store.
“I like this,” Griff said, smiling. His hands clasped behind his back, he browsed around with the quiet intrigue of a person touring an ancient tomb.
It was a cozy store with bright yellow walls that on sunny days seemed to glow, and that made the superhero costumes in the comics and posters against them even more vibrant. It wasn’t like all the other comics shops I’d ever been in, most of which were dark and claustrophobic, almost ashamed. This store said Wheee!
It was L-shaped and not more than twice the size of my living room. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling. The check-out counter of wood and blue Formica was opposite the entrance. New arrivals lined the side wall on the left. Hardcovers and trade paperbacks were in an island of shelves in the middle. Rows of long white boxes full of back-issues were stacked at the back of the store. In front of the register hung a free-standing rack of action figures; behind it was a glass case showcasing limited edition figurines and knickknacks and several of the more valuable comics. Beside the door hung posters hyping DC’s and Marvel’s upcoming summer crossovers.
It was like my second home.
“So you manage it?” Griff said.
“Sometimes I feel like I live here,” I said. “Simon comes in on Wednesdays for new arrival day, which gets busy, and on other days he’ll pop in and out. Aside from that it’s pretty much mine.”
“Is it just you and him?”
“No, there’s two college kids who work a couple afternoons.” I told him about Marissa and Zane and how they both went to Cape Cod Community. When Simon taught a comic history course there two years ago he came away with sidekicks. “Marissa’s pretty angsty,” I said, “but when it comes to comics she knows her shit. And Zane is... well, Zane’s Zane.”
“Your comic book familia,” Griff said.
“I guess we are, a little bit.”
He smiled and strolled past the Indie section. I liked seeing him here; it was a nice collision of worlds. “How’s the comic book business these days?” he said.
“Hanging in there. Little ups and downs, but steady for now. There will always be geeks.”
“That’s true,” he said. “Hey,” he added, pointing to an Adam Strange comic, “I know him. This guy used to be in the Mysteries in Space comics my dad had a bunch of. You know him? He catches some kind of transporter beam and gets whisked to another planet where he has a beautiful wife and goes on amazing adventures. It was very spacey.”
“I like his ray gun,” I said. “It looks like it came from the 1940 World’s Fair or something.” I made a gun with my fingers and fired at him. “So are you about ready?”
“Oh, I thought we were going to hang out for a while?” His eyes were earnest. If I imagined a chunk of gauze dangling from his lips like a bloody stogie, he wouldn’t be much different from the kids who came in with their moms.
“Oh. Yeah. Hang out? I guess I figured there isn’t much to see.”
“Here,” he said, handing me the Adam Strange comic and then taking another one for himself. “Let’s read comics.”
We sat down on the floor, our backs against the Marvel trades, and it felt like a thousand different things might happen. But the only one that did was that we sat and read the comics. He didn’t touch me or even look at me in a way that made me think he wanted to. We just sat side by side and I turned the sweet-smelling pages when he turned his, but I didn’t actually read a single word.
We locked up the store and started back to the parking lot. In the distance we heard the ominous screech of another plow, like a huge beast making its presence known on the snowy savanna.
“You’ve been walking all over Massachusetts in the snow today, haven’t you,” I said. I blew out a puff of white breath. Yes, the visible breath coming from the mouth and nose did look cool, and that was why there would always be smokers.
“This morning feels like yesterday to me, though,” he said, “so not really.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you’re a whole consciousness period ahead of me.”
“Which is probably why I’m so wide awake,” he said. And then, pointing across the street, he added, “That Dunkin’ Donuts looks open. Buy you a hot chocolate?”
I’d been in here almost every day for the past year—summer days, winter days, in rain and snow and sunshine, with Zane, with Marissa, with Melanie and with Simon—but it had never felt like this before. I never expected to look across the table and find Griff sitting there, licking chocolate from his lips.
As I sipped mine I remembered that tonight was the night I was going to make Zane a hot chocolate and tell him how I felt. If all had gone according to plan, he and I would’ve probably been in bed together right now. But if it hadn’t, maybe I’d have been alone instead. The whole idea felt so distant now, so odd in light of these new circumstances.
“So what’s going on in Griff Dean’s life?” I said. “Other than the Beth stuff. Where are you working? What do you do?”
He looked surprised. Before answering he blew on his hot chocolate and then took a long, slow sip. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m rich.”
“Of course you are. Did you buy stocks with all the money you made sitting desk in college?”
He laughed, a nostalgic chuckle, and looked up, rubbing his chin with one hand. “I was always sitting desk, wasn’t I? No, my grandmother died last year.”
“Oh.” I lowered my eyes to the steam rising from his drink. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry, dude.”
“We weren’t close. It wasn’t that big a deal.”
“Oh...”
“She and my mom argued like rabid badgers, so...”
I waited for more; it was beginning to dawn on me that maybe he hadn’t been joking.
“She left my mom a hundred bucks.” He paused and then a soft smile appeared around his eyes and crept down his cheeks to his chapped lips and he said, “And she left me eight hundred and fifty big ones.”
“No way. Thousands?”
“Yeah.”
I recoiled as if shocked by a lightning bolt, my spine knocking back against the plastic chair, and then started laughing so hard I had to press my hands over
my mouth to keep from making a scene. The amount of money was absurd, of course—as ridiculous as a number like fifty gazillion to a recent grad running a comic shop—but that wasn’t even what struck me the most.
“She left you inheritance for spite?!”
“The old bird left me inheritance for spite,” he said, “yeah,” shaking his head but looking like he was trying for all the world not to get up and jump around the Dunkins.
“Spite money. Wow.”
“Can you believe it?”
I couldn’t. For what must’ve been close to five minutes we laughed about his late grandmother’s final shaft. Finally, when we’d mostly calmed down, I asked if he offered any to his mom.
“I did but she wouldn’t take a penny,” he said, wiping tears off his cheeks. “She even donated her hundred bucks to the Democrats because Grandma was a fierce Republican.”
“Your family belongs on a soap opera.”
“Tell me about it.”
My throat felt itchy from laughing so hard. “So what’s it like having a million bucks fall into your lap?”
“It’s not a million.”
“Just about.”
“Don’t make it crazier than it is. It’s crazy,” he said. “Crazy cool but crazy scary, too. Brings out the angel and devil on your shoulders pretty fucking quick, let me tell you.”
“Do you ever feel like flying to Vegas and just blowing it all on hookers and booze?”
He shook his head. “The opposite. I almost feel like it’s some kind of exotic and poisonous fish and if I don’t consume it in just the right way it’ll kill me. I want to save it for something, make it last. It’s so much potential, you know? That’s what’s scary.” He smiled. “I quit my job.”
“What’d you do?”
“I made blueprints at an architecture firm. It sucked.”
“Why’d it suck? You used to like drawing buildings.”
“I did, but that’s not what this was. I just took other people’s drawings and made big blue copies. With this special paper and this giant machine.” He spread his arms wide to measure. “I went home reeking of ammonia every day. But I knew the shit was hitting the fan with Beth and I’d be bouncing soon. So a couple days after New Year’s I left for lunch and just never went back.”
“Wow. And what now? Just living off your inheritance?”
“Not even. The interest.” He paused and seemed to be watching me for a reaction, to see if I approved. I wondered how much crap he’d taken from Beth about this, quitting his job and stuff.
“That’s awesome,” I said, and he smiled.
“I’ve got it all in this high-yield savings account thing,” he went on. “I’m making more in interest than I did at the firm. Life is fucking bliss.”
When we were putting on our jackets he realized he didn’t have his phone. He looked around under the table and said, “I hope it’s in the car.”
But it wasn’t, so we drove back across to Golden Age to check there. Waiting to make the turn into the parking lot, I let a minivan pass. The driver’s teeth were clenched and his hands squeezed the wheel at a perfect ten-and-two. He looked like someone I’d once towed out of a ditch.
A plow had gone up Main Street while we were in Dunkin’ Donuts. I sped up to make it over the crest of snow at the edge of the lot. The lot had been plowed a few hours ago; now, in addition to my first set of tire tracks, there was a second set in the half-inch snow. I didn’t recognize the car that had made them. It was parked at the back of the lot, a pick-up. Blue, maybe black—I couldn’t tell in the dark. I pulled into a spot in front. We got out.
“Looks like company,” said Griff, pointing to footprints that ran up the walk amongst the ones we’d left.
“Tooth emergency, maybe?” I said. But when I looked up, the second-floor windows were dark. “Probably Simon,” I added when it became clear the new tracks led to Golden Age. Doubtful, but it was my only explanation.
The lights in the store were off and through the glass door, between the sign that said CLOSED and the edge of a Green Lantern poster, I saw movement at the register. My pulse quickened and my tongue tasted suddenly sickly. I had my keys clenched in my fingers, ready to use as a weapon.
“Under the register counter there’s a phone,” I told Griff. “If I get taken down, go for it.”
“OK, dude,” he said, patting my shoulder.
“I’m serious.”
“Oh... You know, maybe we should just find a payphone and call the—”
“Fuck that—it’s my store.” I unlocked the door, careful not to rattle the keys too much, and swung it open.
The bell jingled. There was a bump, a gasp at the register. Two men. Light from the floodlight behind me illuminated a bare ass. Jeans were yanked up over it. The second man jumped off the counter clutching at his own jeans. Beside me, Griff stifled a nervous laugh. Someone else yelled fuck. I recognized the voice.
I flipped the row of switches by the door. The fluorescents blinked on. The man, the one who’d been standing, or maybe he’d been on his knees, spun around and threw his hands in the air. The other—
“Zane!”
“What the hell are you doing!” There was a zoot sound as he zipped his fly, and now he was fumbling with his belt buckle.
“What the fuck, Zane!” I pulled the keys out of the lock. I was shivering—no, shaking. My face grew warm. “You,” I pointed at the other guy—a kid really, jockish, crew cut; his hands were still up, his eyes wide—“you wait outside. Griff, give me a minute please?”
The kid looked at me and then at Griff. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?” His voice was deep but quivered.
“Not if you cooperate,” Griff said, a little bit theatrically, and shut the door behind them as they went out.
I put my hands over my face and sighed. “I refuse to be the one embarrassed about this,” I said.
Zane clenched his teeth. He wore a white hooded sweatshirt that accentuated his flushed cheeks. Was he red from what had been going on, I wondered, or just from getting caught at it? His left ear was pierced with three small silver hoops; his right ear had two. His eyes were pinched softly at the corners—as easily the result of a cute cozy sleepiness as the DNA influence of his Japanese grandmother.
“This isn’t your personal motel,” I said.
“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you already had a reservation.” His voice was low, hard. Anger was hiding his embarrassment.
“Reservation?”
“Him.” He lifted his chin toward the door. “Hot stuff, Vince.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.”
I stomped to the back closet, pulse throbbing, just to get away from him, wondering what I should do next, wondering whether I should take his keys away. I wanted to take his keys. How dare he embarrass me like this in front of Griff? And be so disrespectful of this store? I paced around the little closet. If he was still there when I went back out, yes, I’d take away his keys. But only if he was still there. I started to go out but I wasn’t ready to deal with it yet, so I stalled. Who was that guy? I wondered. Are they dating or was he just a trick? I was going to make him hot chocolate! I watched snow puddles form around my boots. Finally I switched off the light.
He’d waited. He was still there.
“I’m sorry, Vince, I know, I know.” He was standing with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “It’s just that he was nervous and we didn’t have anywhere else to go. You know I can’t bring him to my house. My parents—”
“Your homophobic parents are not my problem. Have a little fucking respect.” I sighed and then actually said, “Give me your keys.”
He cringed. “...What? Why?”
“Just do it.”
“Don’t you have to talk to Simon first?”
“And what would I say, huh? By the way, Simon, Zane was getting sucked off on top of your cash register last night. I’m sure that’d go over well.”
“Give me a fucking break, Vince,” h
e said, jerking his head. His earrings clinked together. “It’s bad enough that because of you I have blue-balls now.”
“Sorry.” I held out my hand.
“Fine.”
He dug in his pocket and pulled out a red carabiner looped with key rings. He picked through the rings and slipped one off. He bypassed my open hand and slammed the keys down on the counter. He walked to the door.
“Hold on,” I told him. I felt a stab of guilt when he turned expectantly—I’d only meant to turn on the security system. I punched the numbers. When I said OK he opened the door. I grabbed the keys off the counter and on my way out spotted Griff’s phone on the floor where we’d been reading the comics. I detoured to get it and followed Zane out.
“Where’d they go?” I locked up with Zane’s keys.
“I bet Jeremy took off,” he said without much regret, looking toward the parking lot. In the floodlight his spiked black hair looked almost blue. “Your boy’s in your car.”
“He’s not my boy.”
“Well whoeverthefuck.”
Our tracks were a beaten path now from all the late-night back and forth. My Jeep was alone in the lot. I opened the door.
“That kid hit the road,” Griff reported from the passenger seat. “He was pretty freaked out.”
“He was just a queerling anyway,” Zane said, and looked at me. “And his head sucked.”
“Pun not intended, I assume,” Griff said. Zane grinned. Griff leaned over the driver’s side and offered Zane his hand. “Griffin,” he said. Zane took it; they shook.
“Zane.”
“Ah, the famous Zane of Golden Age Comics?”
“Formerly of Golden Age,” Zane said. I felt his eyes on me again, heavy and dark.
“Get in,” I said, pulling the front seat forward. “I’ll drive you home.”
I could tell Griff was glaring at me even though his hat covered his eyebrows. “You really fired him?” he said.
I pulled the door shut and buckled my seatbelt. In the beams of my headlights I watched Zane stomp his sneakers on his parents’ front steps and go inside their blue-sided colonial.
The Cranberry Hush: A Novel Page 4