Golden Boy

by R. G. Lawrence

  "And this woman is a friend of your mothers, but nobodies seen her for 15 years? Girl, I gotta tell you, this sounds fishy."

  "Oh, Courtney, please, you've got to believe me. For real," she begged, needing a friend in the worst way, liking this woman and her husband. "I need your help. And Bernie's."

  Courtney stood, thinking about it for several moments, trying to get a line on this girl. Finally, making up her mind, she opened her arms, Susie rushing into them. "Child, I don't have any idea why, but okay, you got me, hook, line, and sinker. I'm in, and I won't ask no more questions. Well, not too many. And believe me; if you got me, you got that redwood tree named Bernie, too. We're a team. Only thing is, promise me this. When this is all over, sometime you gonna tell me what it's all about? Deal?"

  "Deal," Susie cried, crossing her fingers behind her back. "Someday, I promise."

  "Good. Now you get into these pajamas and crawl into that bed in the spare room. I'll wake you up in the morning, and maybe we'll have a little luck finding your friend. Off you go, now. Good dreams." Courtney kissed the girl on the cheek, handed her a pair of old, comfortable looking pajamas, and left her for the night.

  22

  "Hello, records office? Hi, my name is Courtney Wharton, I work for the City of Houston. Could you call up on your computer a former student, a lady who has applied for a position with the mayor's office, name is Susan T. Hall. She should have originally enrolled in 2010, which would have graduated her around '14. We're doing a complete security clearance on her. Correct. Well, whatever you have, I'd appreciate. Of course I understand. Your cooperation will be strictly confidential. Certainly I'll hold. Thank you."

  She pumped her fist at Susie who was sitting across from her, listening and watching her for reactions. Courtney was talking to the University of Texas records office in Austin. She gave Susie a thumbs-up and a big smile.

  "On hold," she whispered. "They're pulling it up on computer." She put her finger to her lips.

  "Yes. Fine, could you fax to my machine?" Courtney gave the number, thanked the person and hung up. She reached over and turned her fax on, waited for two minutes, and they had the information from the University of Texas. Susie grabbed the sheet of paper as it came out of the machine, staring at four years of her future life. She devoured the information, looking in shock at what she saw, going back a second, then a third time to search for clues to her present whereabouts.

  When she finished, she laid the paper down quietly, staring off into space as Courtney grabbed it up, reading the information. "Boy, your Sue Hall sure was a busy little critter in college. How'd she find time to do all that stuff and still study?"

  "Good question," Susie answered. "I don't remember anyone ever saying she was real motivated."

  "Let's see. Varsity basketball for two years, named to the Big 12 all-conference team her sophomore year, that’s pretty high-caliber stuff, professional level. Good ball player, huh? She must have got burnout or something, 'cause it doesn't show her playing after that. GPA was good, nothing really outstanding, but good enough. An overall 2.98, not bad at all, really. I would have taken a 2.98. Her major is a little different, though. Strange. She changed it four times before making up her mind. Look, see how these were scratched out. Boy, talk about diverse. She started off with sociology. That's a popular first choice for a lot of freshmen until they realize they can't make any money with it. Ditto on her second one; political science. That ones as worthless as a hooker at a gay convention. Then she changed to kineticology. God, I don't have a clue to what that is. Grab that dictionary over there."

  "Spell it," Susie said.

  "Kinetico..."

  "Got it," she called. "Okay...the study of the theory that minute particles of all matter are in constant motion and that the temperature of a substance is dependent on the velocity of this motion." She closed the dictionary, shrugged her shoulders at Courtney. "What the hell does that mean?"

  "Got me, girl. Must have been during a weird time in her life. Then, sometime in her junior year, she decided on her real major. Oceanography. Wow. This is one odd girl."

  Susie sat there, stunned, not at all sure she was looking at the right Susie Hall. What was all this crap, she asked herself. She's confused; there was never any doubt about that. But kineticology? Oceanography? This is truly bizarre, she thought.

  Courtney started reading the report aloud. "So she graduated in 2015 with a bachelor's of science in Oceanography, see, she took five years for her BS. That's weird for someone with that high of a GPA. Unless it was a money problem. Let's see. She was a member of a sorority for a while, but it looks like she dropped out of that before her junior year. She's listed as a humanities tutor, a statistician for the UT baseball team her sophomore year, played intramural softball and tennis two years. Quite a jock, huh? Spanish club her senior year. And shit, the line listed for a forwarding address is blank. Damn. Now what?" she said, throwing the paper down on the end table.

  "Maybe Bernie will have an idea. I hope so, I've been almost raped and arrested during this search and I hate to come up with a blank. And I don't know how much time I have." She was thinking out loud, not really aware that she was being listened to.

  "What do you mean you don't know how much time? Are you on a schedule, or what?" Courtney asked.

  "Oh, hell Courtney, I don't know what I mean. I’m confused, that's all. Just ignore me when I start rambling like that."

  Courtney picked up the phone, dialed a number, and asked for Bernie. As she waited, she talked over the instrument to Susie. "I'll give him what we got, and he'll pull it up on the police computers. They have every scrap of information about everyone. He'll find her."

  She reached down and pushed a button on the base of the phone and a tiny screen lit up, Bernie's face appearing on it, his voice sounding clear. "Hi there, good looking, what are you and the princess up to?"

  "We have some information UT sent us. I don't know how much help it will be, but flip on your fax and I'll send it. Maybe you'll be able to locate her friend on your computers."

  "Okay, babe, I'll work on it when I get done with this thing I've got going. Send it when you hang up. Love you." The line disconnected. Courtney pushed a button, ran the paper through her machine, and sat back on the couch.

  "All we can do is wait," she said. "In the meantime, let's go shopping. You need some new clothes."

  "I don't have any money," Susie said weakly, feeling in her pockets, knowing she was broke. "I lost my purse somewhere last night."

  "Don't matter. You can pay me back whenever you get around to it. We'll get you a pair of jeans and a nice blouse. Girl, I haven't seen tennis shoes like those in years. Where on earth did you get them?"

  "A garage sale," she said, the lie hurting her.

  "Let's go. We need to rework your style a bit, bring you into the twenty-first century. Bernie will find us if he needs to."

  If she only knew how close she was to the truth, Susie giggled to herself.

  23

  When the girls returned from the mall, there was a message to call Bernie at work. Susie was dressed in a pair of brand new jeans, a purple caftan falling below her knees, and a pair of the latest high-top Nikes, looking more like space shoes than sport's wear, but weighing less than three ounces. She loved them, couldn't believe a pair of shoes could be this light. Courtney had tried to talk her into a pair of cowboy boots, but Susie had opted for her beloved basketball shoes.

  Courtney was on the phone, talking to Bernie. "Hi, we just got back from the mall. Susie looks almost human," she said, winking at her new friend. "What'd you find out for us? Oh, honey that's great...wait, let me write it down. Can you go with us? We're going right now, I think. I love you, see you tonight. Bye." She hung the phone up, ripping the piece of paper off the pad.

  "Sherlock Wharton has located your missing Miss Hall," she cried, the pleasure of her discovery lighting up her face. While Courtney had been on the phone, Susie had turned on the TV set, abse
ntly channel surfing, trying to mentally adjust to her sudden jump into the future.

  "Where?" Susie screamed, switching off the set, throwing the remote devise down.

  "Galveston Bay, which makes a little bit of sense if you think about it. She has a degree in oceanography; Galveston is on the Gulf Coast, plenty of ocean. And we're heading there right now. I've got her last known address, so this will be easy. That is, unless there's something I should know. Like, do we need Bernie along for protection? Are we heading into any trouble, that kind of thing? Don't bullshit about this, Susie, I don't like to walk into trouble."

  "No, of course not. Let's get to Galveston, I can't wait." Noticing the expression on Courtney's face, a mixture of skepticism and humor, she said, "Really, we'll be fine. I wouldn't lie about something like that. Promise."

  Her sincerity convinced Courtney, who grabbed her purse and keys, locked up the house, and they were off for Galveston Bay.

  It was a gorgeous summer day in south Texas, the sun not too hot, just right, reminding Susie of the Caribbean, something tropical in the air. Courtney's little electric car had a convertible top, which the girls dropped down. After finally getting out of the greater Houston area traffic, a massive congestion of tiny, miniature vehicles moving at a snails pace, the girls were on their way. From the outskirts of Houston, the drive took just over two hours. As they approached the Gulf of Mexico, the breeze flowing through the car was filled with salt, the air taking on that ocean-smell familiar to anyone who has spent any time in the south or the tropics. The smell of the Gulf prompted Susie to recount vacations in different tropical paradises, Courtney listening attentively.

  "You're a rich kid, huh?" she finally asked.

  "Well, yeah, I suppose so. How'd you know that?"

  "When you're raised like I was, you can knock off rich kids real simple. When I met Bernie, I was helping my mom clean rich folk's houses on the other side of Houston, a maid, at seventeen. I like you a lot, Susie, but money screams out from your every pore."

  "But I don't know what that has to do with anything...I mean, I don't use my money in a bad way. And anyway, it's my parents who are rich, not me, I live the life I was born into. I've never really thought about it, but being rich, I don't know, it's not that different than someone without money."

  "Right, every rich kid I ever met says the same thing, especially to us poor black folk… 'money don't make us no different.' Wanna bet?"

  "Well, maybe, maybe not. I have this friend, Tammy, who isn't rich. She's like one of my best friend, her and Jody. Tammy's dad manages a fast food place and I always thought me and Tammy and Jody were so much alike. I don't think she cares that I have money and she doesn't. I give her all kinds of my clothes and take her on vacations. It doesn't bother her. Money is no big deal."

  "Susie honey, I love you, but I got to tell you about this, you're sounding real shallow. I know what it means not to have money. So does Bernie. And I bet you anything your friend Tammy resents the hell out of it, resents all of your hand-me-downs and all. That's charity, girl. She don't tell you cause she don't want to lose your friendship, but I think if you look at it real close whenever you get home, you'll see that things might not be like you seem to think they are. When you get home, wherever home is, I think you ought to rethink the way you and Tammy are, and maybe a lot of things about the money trip. Money is a big deal, especially to those who don't have it; just a little friendly, sisterly advice." Her warm smile assured Susie that she had spoken from a friendly standpoint, not one of resentment or hate.

  "Yeah, maybe you have something. It's that I always take all of it, the trips and cars and stuff for granted, I guess. I'll ask Tammy about it. Thanks, Courtney; I guess I do sound like some snob."

  "You are not a snob, Susie, just a little slow on the draw. Every now and then we grow a little, maybe today you grew."

  They reached the outskirts of Galveston, the Gulf looming off to their left, filling their view, the water a deep blue stretching forever in the distance. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Courtney said. "We better stop and get some directions to this address, save ourselves some time. Aren’t you excited, to be this close to finding your mystery lady?" She pulled into the parking lot of a small convenience store. "Be right back, honey."

  Susie remained in the car, her mind out of control with possibilities of what she might be about to discover, wondering what her older self was doing in Galveston Bay, Texas. Surely she didn't fall in with her parent's lifestyle, living in a mansion down here, raising money for dolphin causes, drinking Pina Coladas or Margaritas or some other silly little things with umbrellas in them, living off the trust that her grandfather had set up for her. Getting boob jobs, for Christ sake. Oh, please God, not that.

  Courtney came out of the store, handing Susie a bottle of water, taking a drink out of her own. "They said it's probably down in the harbor, or close to it. Not too friendly in there, I think they don't see a lot of blacks, maybe. They said they didn't know that address for sure. We'll go down there and look around, ask someone else," she said, starting the car and pulling away.

  There was little activity around the harbor when the girls pulled in and parked the car, many of the boat slips vacant. It looked no different than the dozens of marinas that Susie had visited during her travels, a tropical atmosphere, the berths housing a mixture of privately owned pleasure crafts and working vessels. There were shrimpers of every size, tuna boats, and a variety of other fishing rigs. Off to the left, a dry-dock contained a 60-foot boat, the barnacles covering its hull below the water line obliterating the paint, workers beginning the arduous clean-and-repair process.

  They walked past several men stretching out their nets, apparently in early from the day's run. Courtney stopped to speak to one of the men, a short Spanish looking guy with a dark, Pancho Villa mustache.

  "Excuse me, but do you happen to know a woman named Sue Hall? She's supposed to be at, wait a minute..." reaching in her pocket for the address, "...Seven Harbor Drive."

  The man eyed the black woman, checking her out with obvious interest. He turned and said something to one of his partners, speaking fast Spanish. They both laughed. He turned back to Courtney and shrugged his shoulders, as if he didn't understand what she had asked and went back to his chore, ignoring them.

  "Nice guy," Courtney said as they walked away. "Asshole."

  "I don't think he understood English," Susie said.

  "I think he understood perfect English. Let's go in there," Courtney said, pointing to a combination bait shop/grocery/bar. The front window contained several giant tanks of swimming fish, obvious bait for the sport fishers.

  "Dinner for some poor, unsuspecting tuna," Courtney chuckled, pointing at the tank.

  They entered the store, smiling at the clerk behind the counter, a high school age girl, maybe 13 or 14 years-old, tall and skinny, pretty in a tomboyish sort of way. She had short blonde hair tucked up under a University of Kansas ball cap, a white t-shirt showing the first hints of womanhood and cut-off white jeans, her legs long and tanned golden, the skinny legs of adolescence, beginning to find their future shape. Two old-timers were sitting together at a table, each nursing warm beers and talking low, authentic fishermen if their appearance was an indicator. They looked up at Susie and Courtney when they entered, nodded politely, then resumed their conversation.

  The two girls chose seats at a table near the counter, looked briefly at the menu and ordered coffee. "How about a couple of jelly-filled donuts to go along with it?" the girl asked. "I pick them up every morning from the bakery. They're fresh, I guarantee it."

  "Sounds perfect, honey," Courtney answered. While the girl was filling their orders, Courtney said, "I bet that little dumplin' knows every single person in the harbor."

  "It's a good place to start," Susie replied. When the girl delivered their coffee and a plate of two donuts to the table, Courtney asked her if she would like to join them.

  "Naw, but thanks anyway, I got tons
of stuff to do yet. Enjoy." She was back behind the counter before they could pursue the questioning, straightening shelves with one hand and feather-dusting with the other.

  "Folks down here might be a little clannish," Courtney chuckled as they were eating their donuts. "Let's try again." She got out of the booth and approached the counter, taking money out of her wallet to pay the bill, Susie close behind.

  "We're looking for an old friend who lives around here. Seven Harbor Drive. Any idea where that might be?" she asked, smiling at the girl.

  The girl made change for them, declining the dollar tip Courtney offered. "No thanks, I'm not allowed tips. Good service is part of my job, least that's what the boss tells me," ignoring the question. "Come back and see us, ya' hear," she added, an automatic dismissal. The girl was looking down at the counter, not making eye contact, refusing to be drawn into the conversation.

  "Excuse me. Do you know a woman named Sue Hall? She's a friend of my family and I've come a long way to locate her," Susie asked.

  The clerk's head jerked up, anger in the sky blue eyes. "Who the hell are you?" The sweetness was gone, replaced with suspicion, the accent taking on a thick, Southern drawl.

  "My name is Susie Turner. Do you know where I might find Seven Harbor Drive? I really am a friend of Miss Hall."

  "Look, Miss Turner, or whoever ya'll are. I don' wan' ta seem rude, but folks around here don' like other folks coming around askin' questions, know what ah mean? Most folks lookin' for someone might call or write a letter first, tha'd be the respectful thang now, wouldn't it? If ah happen to see Miss Hall, I'll be sure to tell her ya'll was here." This time, there was no doubt they had been dismissed. The two women took the hint, turned and walked out of the store. "That little shit. God, what got her panties twisted?" Susie asked. "She was ready to fight, and damnit, she about got her wish."