C, My Name Is Cal

by Norma Fox Mazer

  Chapter 12

  “A blue sport jacket, Mom,” I said. I was telling her about the man I’d seen in the mall and then again across the street from the movies.

  “Uh-huh. You know what we have to do now, Cal? I just read that we should soak the veggies in detergent.” She was at the sink. “Detergent! That makes you feel good about what you’re eating.”

  Didn’t she hear me? “Mom, I saw this same guy two times. He looked just like that picture of my father. That’s pretty weird, isn’t it?”

  “You’re supposed to soak them for twenty-five minutes to get off all the pesticides.”

  “Mom, are you listening?”

  “I hear you,” she said. “Same guy, blue jacket, weird coincidence. Right?”

  “Right.” I couldn’t figure out the smile on her face. Half smile. Automatic smile. Not a real smile. Maybe she thought I wanted to talk about my father, which was never a favorite thing with her. I didn’t want to do that. Or did I? I felt mad that she was talking about vegetables.

  “Why’d you and my father get married if you were just going to split up six years later?” I said.

  “Who knew that was going to happen, Cal? I was feeling lonely. My mother had died, and your father—well, he was there.”

  “He was there? You mean anybody would have done?”

  “I didn’t say that. You make it sound like—what do you want to know, Cal?”

  “Did you like him?”

  “He was a nice enough man, but he didn’t know how to stick to things.”

  “What things?”

  “Anything. That’s why he was a salesman, not because he was such a great personality, but just because he could always leave one job and get another.”

  “What kind of things did he like?”

  Mom frowned. “How do I know, Cal? It’s a long time ago. It’s behind me. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  So I shut up. But what I thought was, Maybe it’s behind you, but it isn’t behind me. I didn’t even know what I meant by that.

  Mr. Aketa was late coming into history class, and everyone was fooling around. Kids were sitting on their desks, talking across the room to each other. A boy everyone called Grandpa because of his glasses sat down behind Mr. Aketa’s desk and put up his feet. “Attention, class! Attention!”

  The rules of the room were posted on the wall. PLEASE MAINTAIN QUIET. STAY IN YOUR SEATS. NO INAPPROPRIATE LANGUAGE. NO TALKING WHEN SOMEONE ELSE IS TALKING. At that moment, every single rule was being broken.

  “Maybe they’re giving birth,” Fern said, over the racket. “It’ll be a notable moment in history.”

  Mr. Aketa’s wife was pregnant, but when he’d told us about it, he said, “We’re going to have a baby.” He kept us informed. “You kids’ll be the first to know when it happens.” He liked to talk about being pregnant. “We had a sonogram,” he told us. “We think we’re going to have a boy.” He had us all suggest names and picked Kenneth Mason. Garo was the one who suggested Kenneth, which was for Mr. Aketa’s father. Mason was Mrs. Aketa’s family name.

  Leslie Branch wrote the date on the board. That was the first thing Mr. Aketa always did. He was very organized. Leslie wrote the way she looked—thin, energetic letters. “Anybody want me to write anything else?”

  “Your score,” Evan Fisher called from the back of the room where he always sat.

  Leslie smiled calmly, her thin nose quivered. I wondered if she’d already kissed Evan. She put down the chalk and went back to her seat. A moment later I heard her saying to Fern, “I feel out in the cold; he really rejected me.”

  Who? Evan? That oaf? Or was she looking at me? I shifted nervously in the seat. Did she think I rejected her? Had she wanted me to ask for another kiss? I’d been willing! She’d been the one who told me to go back into the gym. I reminded myself of her Guinness Record ambitions. She could be talking about any one of fifty boys rejecting her.

  I opened a book and started reading. A not very good science fiction novel. Over the top of the book, I watched Leslie and Fern. Fern was talking. She waved her arms around emphatically. What would it be like to kiss her? How could you even manage it? You’d miss the target. She’d never shut up for a second.

  Suddenly Leslie and Fern both turned and looked at me. I raised my book and sank down in my seat. Why did I sink down like that? They’d think I was hiding from them … but if I straightened up now, they’d think I did that for them, too. I stared at the page. “Thirppy Zee, turn the Mun Scrolls. Hurry! Lock it up!” I read the same sentences over and over.

  What if I got up and ambled over to the girls? Just did it, straight-backed and cool. Sat down near them, put my feet up on a desk, crossed my arms over my chest, and said, So what’s new and interesting with you two ladies?

  Leslie would flash her eyes and quiver her nose. I’d give her a meaningful look. Fern’s eyebrows would start wagging, and she’d make one of her sarcastic remarks. Leslie! Lucky us! Calvin wants to know what’s new! Oh, thank you, Calvin. I was having a crisis of boredom!

  I’d ignore Fern; I’d be extremely composed. I’d tell them about the book I was reading, Thirppy Zee and the Sercovian Prophecy. Science fiction is usually excellent, I’d say. Lots of interesting ideas. But this one, yu-u-u-ck. I’d toss it aside. Oh, what a stimulating book review, Fern would say. You have such an inspiring way with words, Calvin.

  Okay, scratch that. I’d tell them about Garo and me modeling for Tom. That would do it. They’d go crazy. Girls were always impressed by models. I’d say, Did you ever try and look happy for two hours straight?

  Tom’s job was to do a photo for a boxed set of birthday stuff: tablecloth, napkins, favors, party hats, etc. It was aimed at kids younger than us, but Tom said the manufacturer had done market research. “Which proved,” he said, “that a picture of older kids on the package, especially boys, especially good-looking guys like you two, sold the product best.”

  Garo and I had to hang out in front of a decorated table covered with the birthday stuff and a huge frosted birthday cake. “Look handsome, guys,” Tom said. “Look happy.”

  I thought modeling would be a cinch. Take a picture, collect your money, and go. Forget it. Something was wrong with every shot. Either the lighting was too strong or too weak, or the tablecloth didn’t show up properly, or Garo moved, or I didn’t look happy enough. It took Tom two hours and three rolls of Polaroid film before he was satisfied and ready to take THE picture, the final picture, for the manufacturer. The one that would go on the box.

  I sneaked another look at Leslie and Fern over the top of the book. Would they want to hear all that? Was it interesting or boring?

  Suddenly, Mr. Aketa came running into the room. “It’s time, kids,” he cried.

  “For what?” Raymond Rogers asked.

  “For the baby, stupid,” Grandpa said. He leaped out of Mr. Aketa’s chair.

  Mr. Aketa started stuffing things into his briefcase. “Good-bye, kids.”

  “Good-bye, Dad,” Leslie called.

  Mr. Aketa walked out, then came running back in. “Kids! Did I say it? We’re having a baby. Kids, don’t let me down.” His face was red, and he was smiling all over the place.

  And that’s when it came to me why Mom’s smile yesterday had seemed so strange. That smile when I was telling her about the man in the blue jacket. Because Mom always looked you full in the face when she talked to you, thrust her face right at you, and when she smiled it was five hundred watts. Like Mr. Aketa’s smile right now. But yesterday, her eyes had been down and shut. That was what had made her smile so different, so un-Momish. It had been a smile of closed eyes—as if she didn’t even want to see me.

  “Kids, Mrs. Jones-Barbarra is coming to look in on you, soon,” Mr. Aketa said. “Study your books, okay? Don’t riot. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I wondered if my father was that excited when I was born. Did he think it was neat that he was having a baby? A son? Did he go to the hospital with Mom
? Did he run around telling people? Did he say, We’re having a baby! Did he smile like he’d just won a million bucks?

  Chapter 13

  “What’s the occasion?” I asked.

  “Can’t I take you and Garo out to breakfast on a Sunday morning without a reason?” Mom gunned the engine at a red light.

  “You never did before.”

  “Oh, come on, sure I did.” She snapped her fingers. “Last year, we went out to breakfast at the hotel. You forgot that, huh?”

  “Brunch,” Garo said. “It was brunch, Nina. It was great. I never saw so much food in one place. They had sausages that were the best I ever tasted.”

  “That was for your birthday, Mom,” I said. “What is this for?”

  “What a suspicious boy.” Mom pulled the car into the parking lot. “Maybe it’s my birthday again.”

  We walked across the gravel lot toward a small pink stone building. The restaurant was called Le Bread and Buttery. Mom held the door open. “Be nice, Cal,” she said, as we walked in.

  What did that mean? What did I do wrong? Ask a question?

  Le Bread and Buttery was a long narrow room. Plants hung from the ceiling. In front was an old-fashioned glass display case with food set out like prizes or presents on the shelves. On top there was a big wheel of dark yellow cheese and a long loaf of French bread with a knife next to it. In the case under it was a row of pies with fluted edges. A small white card said QUICHE LORRAINE. Another card said BLUE CHEESE PIE.

  “I’ll have one of each,” Garo said.

  We sat down at a wooden table. A boy sitting on a bench in the window was writing away, his head bent in concentration. He had a notebook on his lap, other books spread open around him.

  “He’s a college student,” Mom said. “Look at the way he’s studying, hon. Bet he gets good marks.”

  “Look at the way Garo’s studying,” I said. He had his nose right in the menu.

  “Can I get anything I want, Nina?” he asked.

  “Within reason.”

  “That means don’t break the bank,” I said.

  Mom looked in her purse. “I have thirteen, no, almost fourteen dollars. You guys go ahead and have a good time. I’m just going to have a slice of bread and a cup of coffee.”

  Garo decided to have sausages and French waffles with whipped cream. I ordered bacon and buckwheat pancakes with strawberry sauce. “French bread and coffee,” Mom said to the waitress.

  “French bread—is that on the menu?” the waitress asked. She had dark tired eyes.

  “No, no, but it’s right there.” Mom stood up and pointed to the loaf of French bread. Why did she have to stand? She had her yellow pocketbook over her shoulder, and it slipped and fell to the floor. Some people at other tables turned and looked at us.

  “That’s probably not even real bread, Nina,” Garo said.

  “Oh, yes, it’s real,” the waitress said.

  “Then I want a slice,” Mom said. She put her purse next to her. “With coffee.”

  “We don’t cut that loaf.” The waitress had her pencil poised over the pad. “Anything besides the coffee?”

  “Why don’t you cut the bread? If it’s to attract your customers, it would look much better sliced,” Mom argued. “More appetizing. I expect you to charge me for it. But not too much,” she added.

  “Mom, it’s not on the menu,” I said, pinching her arm. “Let it go.”

  She jerked away. “Cut that out, Cal.”

  The waitress flipped her pad and left.

  “Do you always have to say something about everything?” I said to Mom. “Why can’t you do things regular?”

  “Garo,” she said, leaning across me, “did I ever tell you about when I was in high school and taking Driver Education?”

  “I didn’t know they had Driver Ed in those days,” Garo said.

  “You mean back in them olden days? Way back then? Why, as a matter of fact, we didn’t, Garo honey. What we had was Dinosaur Ed, the finer points of how to harness and ride a dinosaur.”

  “Heh heh heh heh,” Garo heh-hed.

  “Heh heh heh heh,” Mom heh-hed back.

  I felt like killing them both.

  “So, anyway,” Mom said, still leaning across me, “there I am, Garo, doing great, star pupil and all that. I’ve got this whole driving thing checked out. And then it’s time for me to take the test. The big day.”

  She shot a tiny glance at me to see if I was listening. I had my hands behind my head, my legs stuck out sideways in the aisle. The tables were about big enough for two kindergarten kids.

  “So the other kids are telling me, ‘Nina, watch out for so and so,’ who’s the tester. I think his name was Lester. Lester the tester. He was a mean dog; the other kids said he’d look for any reason to flunk you. So I tell myself, Not me. Not little Nina. I’m going to do everything right with Lester the tester, and to begin with I’m directly on time. I’m there before him, I’m waiting, all eager and fresh. The moment he gets in the car, I’m looking for points. I say, ‘Would you like to buckle up your seat belt, sir?’ I’m letting him know I remember everything. Star pupil. He gives me one sour look and says, ‘NO, I WOULDN’T LIKE TO BUCKLE UP MY SEAT BELT. I WANT TO BE ABLE TO JUMP OUT AND SAVE MY LIFE!’”

  “Heh! Heh! Heh! Heh! Great story, Nina,” Garo said.

  “Like it, Cal?” Mom said. “Funny?”

  “Not bad,” I admitted.

  “You ever heard that before, hon?”

  “No, Mom.”

  “I should tell you more stories about me.”

  The waitress brought the food. We started eating. “I sure wish I had that piece of French bread to go with the coffee,” Mom said. She elbowed me. “Got mad at your ma, didn’t you?”

  “I wasn’t mad.”

  “No, I guess that wasn’t steam I saw coming out of your ears.” She forked a piece of pancake off my plate and tasted it. “I make better,” she said.

  We were just about done eating when Mom said, “There is actually another story I should tell you, Cal. Sort of an up-to-date story. The reason we’re here this morning.”

  “I knew there was something you were holding back.”

  “Okay, don’t be so smart.”

  I shrugged. I felt as if my ears were twitching like a rabbit’s. Maybe I knew before she said it what she was going to say.

  “I suppose you’re going to get mad at me for this, hon, but I had my reasons.” Mom fiddled with her purse, opening and closing the metal clasp. “You probably did see your father.”

  I put down my knife and fork. I felt as if someone had just punched me in the stomach. So I had seen him! “Wipe your mouth,” I said to Garo. He had syrup all over it. I shoved his napkin at him.

  “He showed up about a week ago,” Mom said softly—what was softly for her, probably just normal voice for anyone else.

  “How come you didn’t tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  “He was at the house, he came right there?”

  Mom nodded. Next to me, Garo had stopped eating.

  “A week ago?” I said. “Why did you wait all this time to tell me?” I imagined my father at the door, pressing the bell, listening, maybe brushing down the sleeves of the old blue sport jacket.

  Mom’s face was flushed. “I don’t know, Cal. I just kept putting off telling you … and then, somehow … I thought it would be easier to tell you here. I mean, a nice place … it would make it easier to tell you.”

  I felt like saying, And did it? I felt stupid and hot. “What did he say?” I asked.

  Mom shrugged. “Not too much. He, uh, wanted to see you.” She kept opening and closing the clasp on her pocketbook. “He said—well, that’s what he said. That he came to see you.” She looked up, half smiling. “I knew he didn’t come to see me!”

  “And what’d you say?”

  “I said hello. And then, if you want to know, I told him he had a damn nerve, and I sent him away.”

 
; “Why?” Garo asked, leaning over me.

  “Shut up, Garo,” I said. “Just shut up.” But then the waitress came over with our bill, and we all shut up. We didn’t say anything again until we were outside.

  “So, are you mad at your mom?” Mom said as we walked across the parking lot.

  “No.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “Well, you can be mad at me, Cal. I don’t blame you, in a way. I just want you to understand—”

  “Why’d you tell him he had a nerve?” I interrupted. “Why’d you say that?”

  “You don’t think I should have said it? He doesn’t know you’re alive for nine years, and then he shows up and says he wants to see you? Just like that! Like it’s his due? Like it’s coming to him. What did he ever do for you?” she asked. “Tell me that.”

  Her voice got louder and louder. I’m so stupid I was just thinking how glad I was that we’d left the restaurant. But I couldn’t get away from her words.

  “I’m the one who raised you, Cal, who supported you, who worried about us and got us set. That man didn’t ever do one damn thing for you, Cal.” She was breathing hard. “And if you want to know the whole story, he borrowed forty dollars from me. How about that! I gave him forty dollars. Am I a fool or aren’t I?”

  “Why did you do it?”

  She lifted her shoulders and grimaced. “Why? I don’t know why. Because I’m a sucker. Because he knows how to ask for those things and make you feel guilty if you don’t give them to him.”

  “But you didn’t feel guilty telling him he couldn’t see me.” I tried to keep my voice neutral. I felt confused. Mad at my mother, but at the same time feeling wrong about it, thinking I shouldn’t feel that way. She was right, wasn’t she? My father had never shown any interest. What was I supposed to do, fall down in awe because he got a whim to see me now?

  “Listen, Cal, don’t hard-time me,” she said.

  “I’m not hard-timing you, Mom. I didn’t say anything.”

  “Maybe you think I should have invited him in? Well, I didn’t. He showed up, I gave him forty bucks and sent him away. Now he’ll stay away for another nine years.”