Gables Court

by Alan S. Kessler

  “You’ll get repeat customers,” Samuel remarked.

  “Exactly what I was thinking! This is going to be great! So, what’s up?”

  “Kate wants to get something to eat.”

  “I’m sure she does,” Gary said and grinned. “You’re a fucking stud!”

  “Not really,” Samuel said quietly. “Do you need the car? Your business comes first.” He wanted a reason for not going, imagining, with pleasure, Kate’s disappointment, but also knowing he really wanted to eat pizza with her.

  “Thanks for asking. The Pinto’s all yours. I’ll be stuck here for a while. I’m writing down the addresses of the gas stations in South Florida.”

  “All of them?”

  “Hell, yes! The difference between success and failure is hard work. That’s the motto of Stallion. No one is going to work harder than me! But it’ll be worth it. I told you before, I’m going to be rich!”

  “Where’s Benny and Wolfman?” Samuel asked.

  “Probably where they always are, out tapping Lil. Have a good time.” Pencil in hand, Gary went back to his papers and books.

  Kate waited in the parking lot.

  “Do you get to use your car?”

  Samuel got in without answering and revved the engine.

  “Why are you being such a shit?” she asked as they drove away.

  “Am I? Do you know how to get to this place or should I just keep driving and hope we find it?”

  “Wouldn’t that be fun,” she answered. “I have a newspaper ad. Hurricane Pizza. On Ponce de Leon Boulevard near Miracle Mile.”

  “Whatever that is.”

  “Great shopping! You’ll see.”

  Samuel wondered what she meant.

  He turned into a gas station and getting out as the attendant rushed over, asked the man for directions. The quick way he answered, before hurrying off to pump gas for a customer, didn’t give Samuel a chance to set up an appointment with Gary.

  As they drove past art deco hotels, Kate snapped the radio on and sang along with Three Dog Night. Samuel didn’t feel joyful. He switched the air-conditioner to high, felt as if the hot Miami sun had chosen him for melting while letting Kate sit cool and comfortable. Samuel wiped his face, lifted himself slightly, his pants sticking to the plastic seat. Kate had kissed some bearded old fart then led him into the mysterious darkness of her apartment. She rode untroubled and singing, while he battled the traffic and sweated to death!

  “Fuck her,” he mumbled. Not used to cursing, he heard how violent it sounded within the confines of this small car where his passenger was a girl.

  “Did you say something?” Kate asked.

  “I did. I asked why you fucked that old man.” Like his second beer, no longer bitter, this swear didn’t sound harsh, beer and fuck both useful when dealing with pain.

  “Were you spying on me? Is that what this is all about? You saw me and Fred.”

  “I wasn’t spying. You didn’t try to hide it. Kissed him for everyone to see.”

  “Well, that’s not the same as screwing, is it?”

  “You didn’t?” Samuel said hopefully.

  “How would you feel if I told you the man was my father? Like an ass?”

  “I’m sorry…I didn’t know…”

  “Fred is my calculus professor. We had sex.”

  Breathing rapidly, his mouth suddenly dry, Samuel looked over at her, his sweaty hands sliding on the steering wheel.

  “Concentrate on driving,” Kate told him. “Don’t act like I just broke your favorite toy. You need to grow up. This sexual stuff bounces you around like a ping pong ball. You were relieved when you thought Fred was my dad, you’re crushed now because I told you he isn’t. You are judging me, creating expectations you think I should meet so you can be happy. That’s totally selfish. Pleasure is biology. We enjoy the taste of food, but eating is necessary for survival. Intercourse feels good because humans need babies. Love making sounds nice, but most of the time love has nothing to do with it. The sex with Fred was fun, nothing more. I like you, Samuel. We can be friends. Just don’t make me your dream girl. There’s the pizza place. Still want to go?”

  In the center of darkness so black even gray would have looked light to him, Samuel tried to think. Church. The quiet, starched families of the monogamous and pure, sitting, loving, happy. Congregants bathed in the radiance of the stained glass cross. Would any of them eat lunch with a whore?

  Or love one…

  He parked in front of the restaurant, the concrete building shaped like a snowball. As he walked behind her, Samuel tried, but couldn’t make himself look away from her hair floating on waves of sunlight.

  They sat on white plastic chairs at a white plastic table in an overly chilled room decorated with posters of skiers and Iceland.

  “The names are funky!” Kate read from the menu. “White Cheese Igloo. Snowday Mozzarella. Porky Sled Pie, that’s pizza with slabs of ham.”

  “Let’s eat pig!” Samuel said. “Baptists love it!”

  Kate frowned, not understanding.

  He ordered at the counter from a girl wearing a white satin uniform, her neck, sleeves, and short skirt trimmed in fur. When she smiled at him, he looked away.

  “So what’s with the Baptists?” Kate asked after he returned. “Are you one of them now?”

  “I’m trying to be.”

  “A convert.” Her mouth curled slightly.

  “No, I’ve always believed,” Samuel said.

  “Your parents taught you about Jesus?”

  “We had a Christmas tree, but they never mentioned him or God. What I believe is that people should be good.”

  “Like those in church.”

  “That’s right.”

  “See any black people there this morning?”

  “I didn’t look,” he answered.

  “Tell me what you mean by good.”

  “Do the right thing.”

  “I study, go to school, call my parents, and never lie. Am I good person?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You really piss me off, Samuel. I’m wasting my time with you. Let’s leave.”

  Kate got up just as the waitress brought the pizza over.

  “Can I get you anything else?” the girl asked.

  Samuel looked up at Kate, hesitated, then lightly touched her hand.

  “Thank you, we’re fine,” Kate said, and sat back down. She took a slice, the cheese pulling away from the rest of the pie, and bit in hungrily. “Know what’s good? This pizza!”

  He dutifully ate his.

  “I want you to know, I think about you a lot,” Kate said.

  Samuel stopped chewing. His heart beat faster.

  “You could be an eight, maybe even a nine. You just have to change your look.”

  “My look?”

  “Let’s finish up and do some shopping. We can take the rest of the pizza with us. I don’t like wasting food.”

  Samuel paid and they drove to Miracle Mile, an area of high end stores along both sides of a wide street divided by Royal Palms. He parked between a silver Mercedes and black XKE, the Pinto looking, compared to the two cars, truncated and clownish yellow.

  “We’ve got to find the right place,” Kate said as they walked past jewelry stores, beauty salons, florists, and a block of bridal shops. She peered through the window of a men’s store. “No way!”

  “Why?” Samuel asked. “The clothes look nice.”

  “The salesman’s dressed in a sui
t.”

  Three stops later she took Samuel by the hand into a small boutique. Arm hanging nonchalantly on a rack of pants, his black and blond hair short above long sideburns, the salesman waited for the two to approach him.

  “My boyfriend needs some new clothes,” Kate said.

  Boyfriend! The word shot through Samuel. Did she really mean it?

  “I can see why,” the salesman said, his round, yellow tinted glasses not hiding his disdain as he looked Samuel over. “Too bad we’re all out of white shirts.” His shirt, open and paisley, exposed curly chest hair.

  “I’m helping him choose,” Kate said.

  “Now that’s a plan. This way, fine lady.”

  Samuel trailed along.

  With a sweep of his hand, the salesman showed her the selections.

  “Dashiki, psychedelic—dots, swirls, waves. Disco and a purple Jimi Hendrix. The mod skin is very cool.”

  “He’ll have one of each.” Kate said, glanced over at Samuel. “If that’s OK with you.”

  He nodded.

  “Medium will fit him.” The salesman walked on. “Over here are the pants. Bellbottoms, flairs, nothing black.”

  Samuel tried on the pants, Kate deciding what he should buy. The purchases made, he carried the bundle of clothes to the front counter.

  “You’re a lucky man.” The salesman handed Samuel the carbon copy of the credit charge. “She’s totally stellar.” He looked at Kate, touched his chest. “You two been together long?”

  “Since grade school!” Kate answered. “He’s my forever sweetheart!” She leaned across and kissed Samuel, who dropped the packages. “Pick those up, dear, and let’s split.”

  “I thought you always told the truth,” Samuel said, struggling to keep up with her while balancing numerous bags in his arms.

  “I do.”

  “What was all that BS about grade school and me being your boyfriend?”

  “We are friends, aren’t we? Anyways, that creep back there is a fool and nothing you say to a fool matters. One last stop. You’re going to look great!”

  In the drugstore, Kate picked up a perm kit.

  “This will be super for you.”

  “I’d rather have straight hair,” Samuel said.

  “Doesn’t fit you. Trust me.”

  They drove back to Gables Court.

  Squeezed into Samuel’s small bathroom, he sat on a chair, Kate stood beside him.

  “Lean your head back into the sink.” She turned on the water.

  Head burning, his neck at an uncomfortable angle, Samuel gripped the edge of the chair.

  “Sorry,” Kate said and adjusted the temperature. As she slowly massaged the shampoo in, Samuel pushed down on his lap.

  “Time to rinse.”

  The cold water helped—until her breasts brushed against him.

  “Sit up, if you can.” Kate gently dried his hair. “I’m going to use small rollers, that way you’ll have tight curls.”

  After locking the kinks in, Kate spread Vaseline along his hairline and behind his ears, the touch of her glistening fingers frying him inside. Each squirt of the perm solution from its little plastic bottle sounded a release he couldn’t feel as he sat trapped by the heat, the sound, the closeness of her body.

  “Quit squirming,” she told him.

  Blow dried, rinsed in lukewarm water, neutralized, and rinsed again. Kate took the rollers out. Samuel looked in the mirror.

  “Awesome,” he said. The kinks gone, he felt reborn.

  “Now put your cool clothes on,” she said.

  He chose the bellbottoms and purple Jimi Hendrix.

  In the bedroom, her eyes on his body, Kate walked slowly toward him.

  “Definitely a nine,” she said, and hugging him tight, fell backward onto the bed.

  Samuel didn’t worry about wrinkling his new shirt and pants.

  He forgot about church.

  16

  Gary beeped the horn.

  “Will I see you later?” Samuel asked Kate who watched him from bed.

  “Maybe, if you’re nice to me. Come here.”

  He bent over and kissed her.

  “That’s a start,” she yanked him toward her.

  “Gary’s waiting, I’ll be late…”

  “I understand. How can any girl compete with the thrill of evictions.”

  “I want to stay…it’s just that—”

  “I’m only teasing you, goofball! I have to dress and get to class. Catch you later.”

  Samuel grinned, and bowing low while backing up, bumped into the wall.

  “You’re a nut,” Kate said, and laughed.

  Outside, he sprinted toward the car, stopped when Lipman called over to him.

  “Rosalyn needs to see you, shmeckle! Go on, don’t dick around. She’s waiting.” He continued slowly polishing the Bonneville’s fender while looking lovingly at the metal, his hand’s unhurried movement not laziness, his usual approach to work, but a caress that also didn’t require much energy.

  Samuel shrugged toward Gary, ran to the office and after a quick knock on the door, walked into the managers’ chilly apartment.

  “Good morning, Samuel,” Rosalyn greeted him. “Thank you for coming.” She lay on the bed, head up, fat arms and legs to the side, her position looking to Samuel the same as when he first met her. But her muumuu had changed. No longer flowered, it covered Rosalyn in large folds of purple and pink. “There’s an envelope on the tray. Will you mail it for me? I’d ask my idiot husband, but I can’t trust him to run a simple errand and come right back. That’s why I don’t let him drive that car of his. He’d be gone for hours.”

  “No problem,” Samuel said, eager to leave. He picked up the letter. “Have a nice day, Mrs. Lipman.”

  “One more small favor. You see from the address it’s going to Value News, a free ad magazine that comes out weekly. Will you get me a copy? I want to make sure they printed the right phone number.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “You won’t forget?”

  “No ma’am.”

  “You’re a good boy, Samuel. Even the babies in here like you.”

  In the room’s candlelight, the blue eyes of the Replicates flickered.

  Samuel ran past Lipman, the manager standing and admiring the small area in the middle of the bumper he’d finished rubbing.

  “Sorry,” Samuel apologizing to Gary after getting into the Pinto.

  “Jesus, what happened to your hair? You look like fucking Benny!”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “Probably just takes getting used to. What does Kate think?’

  “The perm was her idea.”

  “Then, buddy, that’s what matters!”

  At the office, Samuel saw a small man speaking to Crystal who sat very tall behind her desk.

  “Do you know when he’ll be in?” His face lined, but not old, he wore a clean work shirt and faded suit pants. The side of one of his battered boots had split along the seam.

  “No, and like I already said, you’ll need an appointment.” Her eyes expressiveness usually limited to the narrow range between teasing and seduction, now conveyed a different message as Crystal glanced at Samuel: hurry on.

  Samuel walked over.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked the man.

  “I want to see the lawyer who sent this.” He showed the eviction notice.

  “Sir, if you
don’t leave now, I’ll call the police.” Crystal picked up the phone.

  “I signed it,” Samuel said.

  “You’re Mr. Baas?”

  “I am.”

  “I…I want to tell you…” the man lowered his eyes. “I hung drywall, but got injured awhile back. I’ve had some day jobs, nothing steady. There’s not much work.” He looked at Samuel. “I have a wife, a little boy…”

  “What’s your name?” Samuel asked him.

  “Tom Miller.”

  “How can I reach you?”

  “To see if I’m home? I won’t cause the sheriff any trouble. We’re not that kind of people.”

  “Maybe I can work things out.”

  “There’s a chance?”

  “I’ll need your phone number.”

  “Don’t have one anymore but my sister does.”

  Samuel wrote her number down.

  “Thank you, Mr. Baas. God bless you.” He shook Samuel’s hand.

  “Nicely done,” Crystal said after Miller left. “You got him out of here. If he comes back, I’ll definitely call the cops. Being a good BSer is what makes lawyers rich. You learn fast.” Her gaze direct, her large breasts zeroed in on Samuel like torpedoes.

  “What happened to your hair?” Vera asked as soon as he walked in.

  “Permed it. I’d like to see Mr. Eldridge.”

  “He’s out, again. Doesn’t help you. I know you’re late. Here’s your files. Tomorrow are you coming in here blond?”

  “Maybe,” Samuel answered and smiled.

  In the conference room, he shuffled through the files he’d already worked on and finding the Miller one, read the complaint. Like all the others, its ordinary sameness belied the fact it had the power to destroy. He held the complaint toward the window, sunlight changing the writing from black to gold while transforming the paper into wafer thinness the color of saffron.