Gables Court

by Alan S. Kessler

  At a 7-11, Samuel bought a six-pack and bag of fried pork rinds.

  Feet up on a mildew stained table, he drank with Gary by the Gables Court pool.

  “Is it hard selling oil?” Samuel asked.

  “It’s not oil, Clyde, it’s a gas additive! There’s a big difference. Jesus, Sam, don’t you know anything? And no, it’s not hard, especially when you’re good looking and charming! I just wish it was going a little faster.” He sounded slightly less cheerful. “I’m doing what’s on the handout the Stallion people gave me: firm handshake, not too strong; good eye contact. Before I left this morning, I practiced my sales pitch in front of the mirror. I’ve got it down cold. I know all about the product and I’m real friendly to my customers when I tell them about it.”

  “How often do you go in for training?”

  “I don’t,” Gary answered. “When I bought my first order, they gave me all the information I’d need. The company believes meetings waste time. It’s better to be on the road selling.”

  “Makes sense. And like you said, it’s only Monday.” Samuel opened another beer. “Want some pork rinds? They’re pretty good.”

  “Yeah, throw me the bag. What kind of name is Baas?”

  “Would you believe it? Jewish!”

  “That’s cool. So’s Wolfman. But he doesn’t eat pork.”

  “It’s ‘cause he’s religious! You can tell from his hair.” Now halfway through his second beer, Samuel tried joking. “I’ve seen them, Jews wearing side locks. His covers his whole body!”

  “I just thought he was hairy,” Gary said. “When it comes to screwing around, he sure doesn’t act like a religious person. I have my standards. He’ll bang anything.”

  “Maybe sex before marriage isn’t wrong if you love the person.”

  “You mean it’s bad if you don’t?”

  Samuel drank his beer.

  “Sex is fun!” Gary said. “Every guy wants it! That’s what separates us from the babes. Because they don’t really care about getting down, they won’t put out unless they think you like them. And I do! All shapes and sizes! But I never make any promises. I keep it simple. Love is way too complicated. Shit, Sam, I’m only eighteen! Know why you’re thinking about all this? You’re an old man!”

  “I wasn’t always,” Samuel said. “I believed…That’s not important now.”

  “There you go! You’ve gotten smart! You might be older, but I’m the one with experience! You like talking about love? Hang around me and your love life will be great!”

  “Farm animals mate,” Samuel said. “I once saw two dogs doing it. I was embarrassed and they looked stupid, all stuck together. I wanted to wait and didn’t. I can’t go back, but that’s OK. I like screwing.”

  “Right on, man!” Gary said.

  “But if I love her, and she doesn’t love me, it’s like those dogs.”

  Gary leaped up on his chair.

  “Jesus H. Christ!” he shouted. “I’m friends with a nerd!”

  Lipman popped his head out of his apartment window.

  “Quiet, goddammit!”

  “Harry, come back here!” Rosalyn yelled. “You’re making my headache worse!”

  Gary hopped down.

  “Are you talking about Kate?”

  “Hell no!” Samuel leaned in close to him. “She’s got the hots for me. No big deal, I’m playing it cool. Kate, Mary Wiggins, they’re all the same. Love’s a joke. We’re ass men!”

  When seeing Kate walking toward them, Samuel got up quickly, stumbled backward, Gary catching him by the arm.

  “Hi,” she said brightly. “Looks like you two are having a good time.”

  “Relaxing after work,” Gary said. “Want a beer?”

  “No thanks,” Kate answered. “How are you doing, Samuel?”

  “Enjoying life,” he said and smirked.

  “Have a nice trip?” Gary asked her.

  “What I expected. Anyone interested in the beach?” She looked at Samuel.

  “Thanks, Kate,” Gary said, “but I’ve paperwork to catch up on. I’m sure Sam would love to go.” He pushed him toward her.

  “See you later, Gary. So, Samuel, going or staying? I can call a friend and get a ride.”

  “But you’re asking me first. Aren’t I lucky! OK, I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  “Are you all right to drive?”

  “Never felt better,” and screw you. “Maybe your boyfriend in Nebraska gets drunk after a few beers, but I don’t.” He jiggled the car keys, walked over to the Pinto. Kate had just shut the car door when Samuel floored the gas pedal, the engine impressively loud in a car sluggishly accelerating.

  “Are you mad at me?” she asked as they drove across the causeway toward South Beach, twilight painting the rippling water pink.

  “Should I be?” Samuel answered.

  “You mentioned my boyfriend.”

  “So? It’s a fact. We had a date, if you could call it that. You left, and I’m hanging out with a few girls now. Gary and me are having a blast!” He deliberately swerved the car back and forth over the center line.

  “That’s nice,” Kate said calmly. “I wouldn’t want you to sit in your apartment and think only about me. Stop driving like a fool.”

  Samuel squeezed the steering wheel tight. Anger wasn’t something he usually felt. When he returned to the past, stood inside a circle of boys, was bullied, or attacked by rock throwers, he imagined revenge, anger not a part of it. Strong emotions were for those who saw vibrant colors, not for him, someone who, insulated by grayness and his father’s money, floated through life. But now, for the second time, he resisted telling Kate to fuck herself.

  “I want you to know something,” Samuel said, keeping his voice steady and controlled. “I didn’t think about you at all.”

  “Not even a little?” She moved closer to him.

  “N-No.” He kept his eyes on the road.

  “What a shame,” Kate said. “I guess I’ll have to try harder. We can park here.”

  Samuel pulled to the curb and quickly out of the car, walked away from her. He glanced behind him then continued on, but slower, finally stopping.

  Kate strolled up.

  “Pretty sunset, don’t you think,” she said. “Time for a run!”

  Samuel hesitated, then dashed after her across the red sand.

  They sat beside each other on the beach, Samuel hearing from the now invisible ocean waves, rhythmic and loud, heartbeats matching his own.

  “Next time I go to Nebraska I’ll visit my parents,” Kate said.

  He remained silent and unmoving, the smell of her, her closeness, pounding through him.

  “Just my parents.” She rested her head on his shoulder.

  Their bodies gently touching inside the night’s infinite blackness covering ocean, beach, and sky, Samuel held her and wanted nothing more, their breathing, for him, from a single heart.

  Kate stood up and said it was time to go.

  At Gables Court, she went back to her apartment, Samuel watching the door close. He had wanted to kiss her goodnight.

  Benny and Wolfman scurried past him on their way to Lil in building three.

  13

  “In my office, Baas,” Durwin Eldridge said while walking past the conference room.

  Samuel nervously shut his file. Eldridge had been gone a few days. On returning, had he found some screw-up in the eviction cases? When passing Vera’s desk, Samuel tried to read the old woman’s expression. She coughed, smoked and typed.

>   “Have a seat,” Eldridge said, pointing to a chair in front of a chess set of marble pieces on a redwood board. “You play, don’t you?”

  “A little,” Samuel answered.

  “Is that strategy? False modesty so I’ll feel overconfident and make a mistake? I’m sure a smart boy like you has an excellent game. You have white. I’m letting you go first.”

  Samuel moved his pawn. Eldridge mirrored the e4 opening and, when again his turn, went on the attack. Hunched over the board, Samuel hesitatingly placed his pieces. Eldridge slashed at them. Cool and unruffled, his suit sharply creased and his hair well pressed, he sat straight and smirking.

  The match didn’t last long.

  “I expected more from you,” Eldridge said. “Your fingernails are uneven. Trim them. Also, that excessive perspiring has to stop. See a doctor. How is your work going?”

  “Good,” Samuel answered. “I do whatever Vera asks.”

  “Vera?” an edge in Eldridge’s voice. “Who am I?”

  “Durwin Eldridge…an attorney…”

  “Your boss. Vera is a secretary, nothing more. Is that clear?”

  “Yes sir,” Samuel answered.

  “That said, I hope you are happy here. You have a nice, air-conditioned place to work. I make few demands. The situation is ideal for a new lawyer, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I do,” Samuel said, wondering when he’d do more than sign eviction complaints.

  “I’m glad you feel that way. I’m sure your father would be pleased to know you’ve found your employment so agreeable. Why don’t you tell him.” Eldridge handed him the phone.

  Samuel called home.

  “Hello, Minnie.”

  “Hello, Mr. Samuel. How are things in Florida?”

  “Hot.”

  “Isn’t that nice.”

  “Is my father there?”

  “I’m sorry, he isn’t. I can take a message.”

  “Tell him I really enjoy working for Mr. Eldridge.”

  “I’ll make sure he knows. Was there anything else?”

  “How’s your granddaughter?”

  “Beautiful and smart! The most precious thing in my life. Thank you for asking.”

  “Good-bye, Minnie,” and he hung up the phone.

  “Who’s Minnie?” Eldridge asked.

  “She works for my parents,” Samuel answered.

  “A domestic. If you want to chit-chat with a maid about her family, do it on your own time. Try your father’s office.”

  “I just did,” Samuel answered. “When he’s home, he works from there.”

  “And when he’s not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Of course,” Eldridge said, with the trace of a smile. “I often travel to Las Vegas. Strictly for business. You father spends a lot of time in the city. Write him a letter. I’ll know if he gets it. That’s all, Baas.”

  Eldridge picked up his putter. Samuel went back to the conference room.

  . . . . .

  He hadn’t seen Kate for two days. That night, Samuel looked away from her door and watched light from the fat, white moon ripple in waves across the ground and into the pool. Illuminated from above and below, the pool’s green skin glistened in the stillness of the breezeless heat, the rising, moon coated beads of emerald water forming her ivory image, naked, shimmering, then disappearing from his imagination. The emptiness brought him back to her.

  Moving deeper into the tree’s shade, Samuel continued waiting for Kate. Her apartment remained dark.

  The next night, Thursday, he opened another beer and, while sitting at his table, wondered when he would see her again.

  She knocked on the door.

  “Want to come over for dinner? I’ve made spaghetti.”

  Stay cool, don’t be an oddball, he told himself.

  “I missed you,” he blurted out.

  “How sweet! Let’s go. The food will get cold.”

  Beside her on the way to her apartment, Samuel saw how Kate’s hair fell softly across the straps of her black jumpsuit and onto the smooth, tan skin of her shoulders. He smelled in her hair the fresh colors of early morning. Her arm brushed against his and the air, igniting into crimson, poured fire into his heart.

  “Are you OK?” she asked.

  “I like spaghetti,” he answered.

  Hanging beads covered her doorway. She had added beanbag chairs and a lava lamp to the standard issue, Gable Court furniture. Incense coiled from a brass holder near the poster of a black woman behind bars.

  “Who’s that?” Samuel asked.

  “I’m surprised you don’t know. It’s Angela Davis. She’s in jail and charged with murder.”

  “That’s a good place for her.” He immediately saw the scorn in Kate’s eyes. “But she might be innocent,” Samuel added quickly. “Being arrested doesn’t mean you did something wrong.”

  “The kind of answer I’d expect from a lawyer! Recite what you’ve been taught! Innocent until proven guilty! The rule for white people. It’s why you thought this black woman should be locked up.”

  “I didn’t mean that…”

  “You did, and I understand. All your law professors were white men, right?”

  “Yes…”

  “Teaching you the law as it works in the white men’s world. How many blacks were in your law school class?”

  “I don’t know. A few.”

  “Any of them women?”

  “No.”

  “What about white women students?”

  “Three—no, four.”

  “No black women and only four white ones were smart enough for admission the year you enrolled. Isn’t that strange?”

  “I never thought about it.”

  ”Of course not! You didn’t have to! Lady Justice holds the scales but she isn’t color blind and can’t get into law school! I don’t care if Angela Davis bought the guns some kid used to kill a judge. She fights for liberation, women’s liberation, the right for us, not society, to choose who we are. That poster reminds me of my goal: to live my life the way I want to, the only expectations my own.”

  Samuel knew not to mention love.

  “Let me get the sauce,” she said.

  They sat at a little table, neatly arranged with glass plates, napkins, and silverware. Kate lit a candle and poured the Mateus.

  “To us.” She lifted her glass and clicked Samuel’s. He drank, looking at her, the wine’s sweetness a perfect complement to the sound of Kate’s words.

  To us.

  Samuel loved her.

  “I hope you like the meatballs. They’re my mother’s recipe.”

  “They look great.” He piled more of them onto his plate.

  “The sauce is homemade.”

  He saturated his spaghetti with it.

  “How’s your job going?” Kate asked him.

  “It’s OK. I have my own office. Mr. Eldridge, the lawyer who hired me, isn’t around much. His secretary gives me the work.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Sign eviction complaints.”

  “You kick people out of their homes?”

  Samuel quickly finished his wine, took the bottle and filled his glass.

  “The sheriff does. He hands them a notice and they move.”

  “But they wouldn’t unless you sent him.”

  “You don’t understand. They owe rent. If they stay, my client loses money. No o
ne can live for free. Everyone knows that.”

  “Where do the children go?”

  “Children?”

  “Yeah, what happens to them?”

  Samuel took a drink, thought about his answer.

  “The kids are better off. The places are dumps.”

  “That their parents can’t afford. What else is left?”

  “The government will help.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know!” He drank more wine but wasn’t feeling happy. “All I do is sign papers!”

  His plate slid onto his lap. Kate brought a wet towel from the sink and wiped the spaghetti sauce off his trouser leg.

  “That’ll stain,” she said. “You need new pants anyways.”

  Kate’s face close to his, he wanted to kiss her.

  “We can do the dishes later,” she said.

  They went into the living room.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if your client owns this place.” Kate sat on the small sofa. “Only a slumlord would buy furniture like this.” She took out a lighter and clip. “Do you smoke?”

  “No. My father did. A pack of Camels a day, but he gave it up for a pipe.”

  Kate laughed.

  “I mean grass. Do you get high?”

  “I like to drink,” Samuel answered.

  “Pull up a chair.” Kate lit the roach, its red end glowing as she took a hit. She passed the clip to Samuel. “Draw the smoke into your lungs. Don’t worry if you start coughing. You’ll get the hang of it.”

  He puffed, fast and hard, smoke escaping from his mouth.

  “You have to inhale,” she told him.

  Samuel tried. The billowing smoke covered his face.

  Kate shook her head.

  “Virgins.” She got up and knelt in front of him. “I’ll cool it for you.”

  Samuel watched the smoke in her mouth stream toward him, disappearing as her lips closed on his. He started to cough. She pressed her kiss forcefully against him and snaked her tongue inside.

  Kate held him tight.

  Samuel felt himself float into the world of his father and van Gogh’s ear. His experience expanded beyond what beer and wine had allowed him to see before. He tasted Kate’s smooth crimson lips smelling of honeysuckle and rose. Each braided strand of her fawn coated hair whispered lovingly to the currents of amber inside her eyes. Samuel gently touched her cheeks, breathed in their sweetness. Space and time ended. The room melted, a multicolored candle dripping streams of thick lavenders and blues.