These were times when being a Tappet felt fabulous, to have significance just because of a name and place in society, but to also be a devil’s boy. It was double pleasure, like getting something of value for free, and then selling it for more than it was worth. The influence I yielded over any group was gratifying too, and almost any amount of deference would satisfy me, so that at first, though my behavior was annoying to others, it wasn’t disruptive to my own sense of well-being. I’d been right about the Arckon family. Elizabeth took Kurt and Andy the week after they had been beaten. Sally cried and thought we would never see Andy and Kurt again. However, Una interceded on behalf of Bert.
I had gleaned from Una and Mary’s long talks in the upstairs office in the evenings, when I spied on them, that Elizabeth was in love with another man and refused an attempt by Bert at reconciliation. She left for Maryland where Mary had secretly arranged to give her a job. However, Una pointed out to Mary that she was effectively taking away our best friends for the sake of loyalty to a friend who had committed infidelity. Mom soon changed her mind, and then to my surprise, Stan, Mary, and Una, all joined forces, and helped Bert with legal expenses to fight for custody. Furthermore, they refused to be witnesses against him about the beating.
At first I didn’t understand this. In the end, the court gave Kurt to Elizabeth and Andy to Bert, which was fine. I didn’t know if Kurt was ever going to forgive me for being beaten up by Bert anyway. I came to understand later that these were Andy and Kurt’s own choices. I also learned that a sin Una and the Tappets considered mortal was infidelity. I looked it up, I’d a dictionary in the bunker, disloyalty and unfaithfulness. I grasped further that Elizabeth had screwed around on Bert and got caught. So even those who liked or even pitied her were publicly prevented from helping her.
In January of 1973, Sally had her first period. It was a Sunday afternoon and only Una was in the house. “Look what I had to use all last week,” she said, when she announced it to me, showing me her box of Tampons. I smiled and was instantly excited. “It didn’t hurt either,” she teased, “Mr. Know-it-all.”
“That’s good,” I said hardly able to swallow. “Is your period done?”
She shrugged, but she must have been curious because then she nodded and I took her in my arms, kissing her tenderly. No doubt remained in my mind that this would be the highlight of my life. After locking the doors, we got the condom out and took off our clothes, then lay on the bed. I got on top of her.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
She reached up and kissed me. “It feels funny, but nice too.”
I agreed that it was strange and warm. We kissed and I stared into her eyes for the longest time. Too soon I was spent, surprised that the sensation felt less than I thought it would, but also the time had flowed past me quickly.
“How was it?” she asked.
I shrugged. “It was okay.”
“Maybe you need to practice more.”
This sounded like an excellent idea and I agreed. We began practicing every day and that made a great deal of difference. Much of the time, we remained under the covers, but sometimes we were more risqué. We became braver as we practiced, neither of us seeing the dangers down that path. Sally’s breasts were forming and she now grew pubic hair. I had noticeable biceps and chest muscles showing. Sometimes when we were alone together, she’d call out and I would cup her mouth, shushing her. We would giggle like children and roll over on the floor.
After we received our glowing March report cards, we began to follow a new combined strategy toward homework and school. We set our goal: Nothing less than straight A’s. Our marks were closed to this already. I’d to change two B-pluses and one B into A’s. Sally had to change two straight B’s into A’s. The reasoning behind this was that if we got it, we might prevent impending part-time summer jobs at Tappets. I’d heard it directly from Una and Mary as I spied on them from the bunker.
To facilitate our goal, we’d meet twice a day after school in my bedroom. Sally’s room was too filled with toys. Once at four-thirty for an hour to do our homework together, and once at seven to study. We would do quizzes on each other and we developed it into a homemade competition, the best four out of seven, with the winner being able to ask any favor of the loser. When she would win, it was strange. She’d ask me to pick out her fantasy. This was just like her and you might think it would ruin the spirit of the game, but I’d try to imagine what would be exciting for her, and then do it to her. Either way, I won.
On June 18 of that year, we came home together with our grade eight report-cards. They were sealed and Sally and I were in knots waiting to see them. We ran from the bus stop all the way home. We found ourselves breathless, standing before Una as she searched for some scissors in the kitchen. “Hurry, Una,” I pleaded.
She stopped and eyed me. “What are you two imps up too?”
“You’ll see,” I said slyly.
She grunted and took a sharp knife cutting them open. She studied both report cards for a minute and then without warning, swooped down and gathered us up in her big strong arms, lifting us right off the floor. “By goodness, not a B to be seen, all A’s, Stan and Mary will be jumping off the planet.”
“Una, we did this to get something,” I said softly, “but we need your help.”
She raised her eyebrow and returned us to the floor, instantly sobering. “What is it, my full-grown child?”
“Dad’s thinking of giving us both summer jobs. We want to stay home with you.”
She looked at Sally who nodded. Then she smiled sadly. “Why do you want to ruin Una’s summer?” she asked. “You both have to start learning the business sometime, this is your destiny.”
We both nodded and she leaned back on the kitchen counter, her large frame nearly hiding half of it from our angle. “If you’ll agree to work in August, I’ll give you the month of July free and with a late night curfew.”
“Midnight,” I said in a rush, knowing what a pitiless negotiator she could be. Not as remorseless as Mary, but still hard-nosed.
She shook her head. “No. Home by ten, in bed by eleven.”
I frowned, but could see Sally wasn’t going to hold firm.
“Are there really two complete sets of straight A’s?” I asked as though it were unbelievable.
This made her frown, but it was immediately replaced by a smile, as though she recalled with whom she dealt. “I’ll throw in one whole week in Florida at Disney World.”
Sally whooped in joy. I knew is was over, and come August, we’d be working at Tappets unless I had some amazing intervention.
“Una, we’ve worked after school, after supper, and many weekends, studied, re-studied, did quizzes, and kissed everyone’s—” I stopped just in time. “We were very cooperative at school, all for one thing: A free summer.”
“How come you’re so sure you even have to work or that you won’t like it if you do.”
I knew that she knew 100% that there were jobs waiting for us. I was even pretty sure that she was the single force behind it. I’d heard it discussed twice as I’d spied on her and Mary. I had talked to Lloyd on several occasions about his jobs with Tappets, of which there were several, and most of them were hard, tedious, or downright boring. Besides, what’s to discuss with a twelve year old? It’s work and the world of adulthood! Sally’s birthday was on June 1, 1961, and for three months we would be the same age. It might have been our last summer of childhood and I knew it.
“I’ll be a teenager on September 23,” I said sadly, “that’s when you’re not a kid anymore.”
Una smiled and the resistance flowed from her eyes. “I see, and of course, you’re a special case and deserve unique consideration.”
“I did lose almost four years.”
When sympathy came to her eyes, I knew I’d won, and without another word, I hugged her. I then took Sally’s hand and we left. “What happened?” Sally asked.
“I don’t know if we’ve got the Disney tri
p, but we aren’t working this summer.”
Sally hugged and kissed me. “You’re the best, scrumps.”
We came out through the backyard. The pool remained covered and locked. It had been open since May 15, and the water was about 72̊C, but it was still too cool outside to swim. We ran next door, after telling Una, and found Andy on his door step.
“Do you want to play?” I asked. He nodded. “Are you okay?”
“My report card wasn’t that good. Dad said I might have to go to summer school.”
“Everybody says summer school’s easy,” I said. “Which courses?”
“History and English.”
“We’ll help you with that,” Sally offered.
I nodded. “Let’s go.”
As we walked along Rookery Street, we passed four older teenagers smoking weed, three boys and one girl. I hated weed and tobacco, the bullies all smoked them at Carling Street and stunk. The girl’s face was full of pimples.
“What’s that smell?” Sally whispered in my ears as we passed.
“Do you want some Guanghua, all the way from Yamaica?” one of them said with a chuckle, taking notice of us and poorly imitating an island accent.
He was a suet-faced flabby roughneck with sickly pale skin who I’d seen in the neighborhood before and who I immensely disliked. He picked on a skinny nine-year-old a few doors down, a boy who reminded me of me when I was his age. I looked around for a weapon, but couldn’t spot anything lying about, but then on a hunch, I stopped anyway. He also reminded me of one of the ruffians from Carling Street, a boy who had caught me outside the home and trimmed my hide because I’d refuse to give in to him one time when Lloyd was away. Besides, he was toked-out and had his hands in his pants-pockets. It was perfect for a storm attack.
“Do you have any dagga?” I said and stopped before him, curling my fists into tight balls inside my jacket. I had long known weed from South Africa was the best.
“What the fuck is dagga, you toothpick?” he said belligerently.
“Cannabis imported from Africa,” I said calmly, not looking him in the eye but coming carefully, into his personal space.
“What do you know, faggot?” he said further.
I was close enough now to smell his bad breath. “Lots,” I said, now positioned and catching his gaze. “For instance, I know that you’re fat and ugly.”
Having said this, I sucker-punched him with four quick hammer-stabs as Lloyd had taught me, one to the crotch for intense pain, one to deep inside his soft fleshy stomach, to double him up, the third to the jaw to straighten him out, and the last to the stomach again, except this time on the other side with the other hand, to knock out his wind. This succeeded excellently. When you’re really afraid and put all your fear into a punch, you can sting with a wallop. He staggered for a moment, then crumbled in agony and threw up. I hoofed him with my foot and he fell onto his side into the puke. I looked over at the other two boys, both of them who were more my size. They took a few steps back and I saw the fear in their eyes.
“I know kids who killed people over that shit,” I said and spit to the ground. “Never mind him, he’s a turd. We’re going to our backyard to play Kick the Can. Do you want to join us?”
To my surprise, they both nodded. They knew who we were, but unlike Sally, this didn’t bother me. They probably appreciated as well that I’d so easily taken down the neighborhood bully, of whom they were likely also afraid. They came along with us and we introduced ourselves as kids do, playing without conflict for a couple of hours until Una called us in for dinner and then they left.
When we came into the kitchen, I saw that we were to have freshly baked garlic bread and spaghetti, one of my favorite meals. The house smelled delicious, but Una made a lumpy spaghetti sauce that was horrible and which should ruin any appetite, and being under her sway longer than I had been, the Tappets ate it straight up. I didn’t even care to think about it or what was in it, although you could make out chunks of broccoli and carrots, if you could imagine. I’d tried it three times. It was pure spew. The Tappets shook some foul-smelling cheese over it to hide the taste, but this just made it worse. For my spaghetti, Una would warm Hunt’s Tomato Sauce straight from the tin, no funny business added. It was scrump-delicious.
“Can Andy stay?” I asked.
She nodded. Andy phoned his father and got permission. When Mary and Stan came home, I knew they both had already heard the news. They perfunctorily congratulated us, and all three of them retired to Mary’s office for a quick conference. I’d have loved to have gone to the bunker to listen in, but we were too busy playing. When we sat for supper, Mary said grace. I watched as Andy poured the lumpy sauce onto his plate of spaghetti. He too, had been under Una’s sway longer than me. Over supper, Mary and Stan happily agreed to everything, including the Disney World trip in Florida, and also some undisclosed time at Una’s cottage.
I solemnly thanked them and they all laughed at me. Una said that I was cutthroat. That evening, Mary and Una took Sally and me to The Poseidon Adventure in a huge theater on Broadway. Inside, we walked up a great flight of stairs and sat high in the balcony, eating buttery popcorn and riveted to the enormous screen. I knew it would be the best summer yet. The next morning, Sally performed a concert for us, playing a ditty on the piano which she had written. Her voice was strong and clear, if not perfectly melodic.
“Hear the bells chime for two.
They tell time when the bridge goes up,
And the parade begins, so that the dragon can eat you.
Down in the valley someone raises a cup.
Hear the bells for my closet boy;
Chime the knell for a cuddly toy.
Pop goes the weasel and kisses you on the face.
Robin Hood comes and saves you from the awful men.
See the witch come also with haste,
And to the teacher A, B, C and use the pen.
Hear the bells for my closet boy;
Chime the knell for a cuddly toy.
I know Yankee Doodle went to town riding a sow
The big bass drum comes onto a roller coaster in-side-out
And the sun comes up on the pow-wow.
The boat goes sailing, nick-nack-paddy, out-and-about,
A Mexican hat dancer performs on its shining bow.
I thought it truly funny, and laughed. Of course it made absolutely no sense to me, then I supposed nothing more about it. Una didn’t laugh and Mary whispered something in her ear, like, ‘Good grief,’ and left for work. We played in the backyard with Andy and drove our bicycles around the block. Since I’d flattened the neighborhood-bully, no one ever bothered us. After supper, Stan took Andy and me to Long Island to see a formerly free-standing tall hydroelectric tower which had collapsed and fell into a department store building completely destroying it, and killing two shoppers.
“Look at all the people,” Andy said in his low soft voice. We were both in the backseat, struck more by the crowds, hundreds of people had gathered around the scene, than the accident itself, which we really couldn’t see well anyway. Stan pulled up in front.
“It was built and cross-braced with steel girders,” he said. “God, how could this happen?”
Stan was normally bright about these things, but this struck me as an easy deduction.
“It rusted out,” I said.
He glanced over a moment and stepped out of the car. “Stay here.”
I watched him introduce himself to the officers who were securing the devastation from the casual onlookers. He passed through the barrier and disappeared into the wreckage. A moment later, he returned and got behind the wheel of his Lincoln.
“You’re right. The cross-braces buckled, they’d been weakened by rust.”
I felt very proud, but also understood Stan hadn’t driven here strictly as a mere observer. “Do we own that tower?”
“Thank goodness, no,” he answered, not stopping to reflect on the fact that I had used the word ‘we,’ “
but Tappets supplied parts for the steal girders. We’ll have to advise our customers and come up with a maintenance scheme.”
The next day, Stan became sick, and was ill for two weeks. He was admitted to the hospital and had his gall-bladder removed. I visited him every afternoon and read to him a chapter of a new book I’d discovered in his den at the mansion, The Theory of Money and Credit, by Ludwig von Mises.
Mary had bought it for him. After fifteen chapters he was released, but I knew much more about capitalism than I felt I needed to know. By middle July, he was back to his regular self, but this time, Una’s mom, Clara, became sick again. Una made plans to return to Jamaica. “Who will look after us?” I asked her as she packed.
“Aunt Gayle.”
“Does she have any kids?” I asked, having never met the woman.
“Her children are in university now,” Sally said.
“Is she nice?” I asked.
Una was checking off a list that sat on her dresser and stopped for a moment to reflect.
“I’d not cross over to Sally’s room in the middle of the night,” she said sternly, “if that’s what you mean. I’d be careful to follow all of the rules you can remember. She’s strict.”
This sounded bad. “Why can’t we come with you.”
She sighed. “I’d take you both, truly, but it’s an indeterminate stay.”
“You’re just trying to get away from us,” Sally said in a hurt voice.
“Listen to yourself,” Una said with a laugh. “You know in your heart that isn’t true.”
“I don’t want you to go,” Sally said.
“Me neither,” I added.
Una sat on the bed and gathered us in her arms. “When I come back, we’ll go to the cottage, just the three of us.”
Stealing Flowers Page 12