He shrugged, but she dared to think that he looked a little bit more keyed up than he had before. A little hopeful, maybe?
“The contact has to be one hundred percent,” he said. “Even a film of ink or lipstick like that and the contact would be, you know, broken.” He looked at her quizzically.
“Believe me,” she said, resting her hand on her chest. “I do not open up my computer and doodle on it.” She took the memory module from him and peered at it again. “Anyway, it’s not a shade I’d ever wear.”
He managed a tightly packaged little smile, which she returned to him opened. Then, distractedly, he reexamined the gold head of the module. “Just a second,” he said. And again he walked back into his work area, returning a moment later with a tiny paintbrush and a bottle of foul-smelling liquid. Mimi scrunched up her nose.
“Nail polish remover?”
“Acetone,” he said. “Same thing, I guess.” He delicately wiped the top of the module until every trace of the red was gone. Then he waved the module in the air, gently.
When it was dry, he carefully replaced it and screwed the panel back on. He turned the computer over and opened the lid.
“No beeps!” said Mimi.
“So far, so good.” Then he turned the computer to face her.
“You want to give ’er a go?” he asked.
“Is it going to blow?”
“I don’t think so.”
She grinned, pushed the power button. And now her computer sang out a proud note to let her know it was leaping into action.
“I don’t believe it,” she said, as she watched her familiar desktop swim into place before her eyes. There was Harpo Marx, grinning his gorgeous face off! It gave her such a jolt of happy relief. Her world was still intact! She clasped her hands together with glee. “I don’t believe it.”
The repairman leaned around the edge of the laptop, and she turned it so that he could see the magic, too. “Your boyfriend?” he asked.
“My dream boyfriend,” she said, but she was giggling now. She double-clicked on one of the files and it sprang to life. “Oh, wow!” she said. “You did it! You did it… What’s your name?”
“Cramer,” he said.
“Cramer!” she said, and gave him a high five. “Here you are taking my computer apart and saving my life, and we haven’t even been introduced. I’m Mimi,” she said, offering him her hand across the counter. “Mimi Shapiro.”
He took her hand and squeezed it, only very carefully, she thought, because had he wanted to, he could have probably crushed it.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she said. He bobbed his head around self-consciously. “No, seriously. I was expecting to have to go into Ottawa or maybe Seattle, but my friend said I should try here first. Wow!” She took a deep breath and waved her hand in front of her face.
“How much do I owe you?”
He held up his hands as if he had no idea.
“Oh, come on, Cramer,” she said, reaching into her purse. “You have rescued me from a fate worse than death. What do you charge for saving damsels in distress?”
Now he truly blushed. He looked down, held up his hand in protestation. “No charge,” he said. “It was just a lucky guess.”
She placed her hand on her throat. “Then I won’t try to bribe you with money anymore. Thank you. Thank you very much. But, oh! I’ll buy stuff,” she said, and placed the discs and ink jet on the counter.
“Okay,” he said, and started to write out a receipt. He looked up and smiled gravely, a little ill at ease. “This friend,” he said.
“Who, Harpo?”
“The one who said you should try here.”
“Oh, right.”
“Could she have done this?”
For a moment she didn’t understand what he was getting at. Then his eyes strayed from her face to the computer she was packing away in its case.
“Oh,” she said. “No. No. Believe me, it wasn’t him.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding. “But the thing is somebody did it.”
Mimi hung the case from her shoulder, held it close to her side. “I know.” There was an awkward silence, but she really didn’t want to start trying to explain about the situation. It sounded too spooky, too perverse.
“Maybe you should keep it locked up?”
“Funny you should mention that,” she said with a laugh stripped of any amusement.
“Why is it funny?” he said.
Mimi looked at him, standing there all earnest with concern. It made her a little uncomfortable. “We had a break-in,” she said.
“Bummer,” he said. “And was your place like all locked up and that?”
“Yeah, but locks don’t seem to work on this… Well, let’s just say we’ve had more than one break-in.”
Now Cramer’s brow creased with concern. “Is it some old boyfriend, maybe, who’s still got a key?”
Mimi hugged her computer case. Was this computer knight with the disquieting pecs going to offer his services as a bodyguard? She grinned to herself and then sobered up and shook her head. “Uh, that’s unlikely,” she said.
He looked apprehensive, almost hurt. Then she noticed, with relief, that the receipt was finished, and she busied herself taking out her wallet.
“I really don’t know how to thank you, Cramer,” she said as he swiped her card. He looked at her and bobbed his head, and she wondered if he was going to say “Aw, shucks” or something like that. Then she noticed a little stand that held a stack of business cards. “I should take a card,” she said. “In case of emergency.”
“Uh, that’s my boss’s card,” said Cramer.
“Hank Pretty,” she read out loud. “Oh, I get it, ‘PDQ-Pretty Damn Quick.’ That’s cute.”
Cramer bobbed his head again. “Here,” he said, and he took the card from her, picked up a pen, and printed his name and number on the back of it.
“This is my home number, eh?” he said, handing her the card. “I usually only work here a couple days a week.”
She grinned as she took it from him. “Cramer”; no last name. She shoved it in her pocket. “I usually have to work a lot harder to get a guy’s phone number,” she said, and enjoyed watching him blush again. Enjoyed it a bit more than was entirely healthy. Time to get out of here, she thought. And so, with a little neutral kind of wave, she turned toward the door. She was almost at the door before he spoke.
“I hope I see you again,” he said.
She turned and smiled. “Me, too,” she said. “Thanks so much.”
Then she left, and when she glanced back through the door to wave one last time, he was still staring at her, his hands in his pockets. His mouth was open, and she had the odd, exhilarating feeling that he was trying hard to catch his breath.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
They had met. They had shaken hands. He had held her hand, so cool and smooth. His plan had worked. He wasn’t used to that. He wasn’t used to wanting something and it actually coming true. He had never believed in luck because then he would have had to face the fact that he didn’t have any. But maybe-just maybe-things were changing.
And he hadn’t blown it. He didn’t think he had sounded too stupid. He didn’t always get what she was saying, but he’d made her laugh-well, once anyway. It hadn’t been so hard. It would be easier next time. He wasn’t exactly sure how this amazing thing called “next time” was going to come around. He’d have to think about that.
He walked through the rest of his workday in a kind of a daze. All he could think of was Mimi. Face-to-face, she was more beautiful than ever. Her eyes-the way she had looked at him! She seemed to like him, but it was more than that, and for one terrible moment he had thought she recognized him. But there was no way she could have seen him. No way. And now they’d met. And they would meet again. Somehow, though he couldn’t quite see how. What else could he break and then fix? He laughed out loud, alone in the store. But he was only kidding. He would never break anything of hers again.
For that one week Cramer was holding down two full-time jobs. He had to be at PDQ by 10:00 AM to open up and stay there right through until closing time. Because he was working the night shift at the plant, it didn’t make much sense to go home-took too much time and too much wear and tear on the car. But when he suggested that to Mavis, she had a shit fit.
“You’re going to strand me out here?”
“Well, what am I supposed to do?”
“It is my car, for Christ’s sake!”
He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t really her car anymore. It wasn’t just that he paid the insurance and the license and kept it topped up with gas. In the six years he’d been driving the Taurus, he’d replaced just about every damn part in the thing.
“So you’ll drive me into town in the morning?” he said. She didn’t answer. She wandered away, rubbing her hands together, and stared out the window.
“I could get to the plant if I’m in town. One of the guys on my crew could give me a lift, I guess.”
Still she didn’t answer. He had no idea what he would do about getting home from the plant at four in the morning if she took him up on his offer. Hell, maybe he’d just sleep in the back room at PDQ.
“Mom?”
She turned and gave him a sour look. “Do whatever you like,” she said, and went outside. Somehow he was the bad guy. But, then, what else was new?
They ended up coming to a compromise. If she needed the car, she’d drive him in and pick him up at five. Then he’d take her home and go to work. It was a lot of driving and a lot of wasted time, but she had things to do, she said. Things to do.
She had pretty well abandoned her art. And she had abandoned asking about the money. He was doing what he could, but he wasn’t going to keep saying to her every goddamned day how he would get her the money. She had to believe in him, the way he believed in her. And until the money was in his hands, he wasn’t going to make any promises he couldn’t keep. He owed her that much. Sometimes it seemed to Cramer that his mother’s life was a promise she couldn’t keep. Somebody had to do it for her.
He allowed himself to think that she was looking for work. Maybe that’s why she needed the car. He fantasized about coming home one day and her surprising him with the news. He fantasized about quitting one of his jobs. He fantasized about having a life! He’d never questioned his life, really. This was it-the one you got. You did the work. You looked after things. You picked up where you left off yesterday. End of story. But now- now! — he wanted something. He wanted something big-time. He wanted a new life. And he had done a bad thing to get that new life started. He hated himself for it. Hated the foolish games he had been playing lately and what it had brought him to. But then again those foolish games had brought him to Mimi.
When Mimi told him about the break-in, the look on her face was like a hard fist plowing into his stomach. He was dead afraid he was going to confess, right there, right then. He imagined the words spilling out of him, and it felt as if it took every muscle in his body not to break down and tell her. He couldn’t bear the thought of making her unhappy. But what he couldn’t bear even more was the thought of her being angry with him. He’d heard her talk to that guy on the phone. Seen her temper flare up, and he didn’t want that temper aimed his way. He would never give her a reason to turn on him like that. Never. So there would have to be this secret between them, and that was too bad, but it couldn’t be helped. He would just have to live with it. One more burden.
It was Wednesday morning that he got the call he’d been waiting for. It also just happened to be the first day of August and he noticed that-noticed that Day One of his new life was starting on the first day of the month.
He had to go right away. He locked up the store and put the little sign up on the door. BACK IN A FLASH, the sign read. And Cramer had to laugh. Back in a flash with the cash.
He called Mavis and told her to be home for dinner. He said he’d bring something. What did she want, KFC or a pizza? Chinese-whatever!
“What are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Just choose.”
“What are we celebrating?”
“The first of the month.”
“Cramer, are you stoned?”
He was almost offended, but he thought he could hear just the tiniest bit of excitement in her voice, as if she had caught some of his own excitement.
“You have a fantastic day,” he said. It was something Hank Pretty said to customers, and it sounded like the exactly right thing to say. Then laughing, he hung up. He expected her to phone back, but she didn’t. So he got a deluxe pizza with pineapple and ham, because he knew that was her favorite.
She was there when he arrived, waiting at the door. He smiled and hoisted the extra-large-size pizza box high for her to see. She was standing just inside the screen door, and she didn’t open it even when he was standing right on the step. She looked odd-frightened.
“Mom? You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, staring at the box in his hands. “What’s going on, Cramer?”
He had hoped she might have set the table in anticipation of him bringing home takeout. Especially since he had to head off to the plant in an hour or so. He’d imagined on the way home that she might even pick some flowers and put them on the table the way she used to do sometimes when there was something to celebrate-any old thing. But the table was cluttered with mail and half-finished cups of coffee and a plate with toast crumbs on it that had been there for days.
Still, she seemed pleased with the pizza. So he set the table around the mess, and when they were finally sitting across from each other with their plates filled, he reached into his pocket and handed her a folded envelope.
“Here,” he said.
She took it from him gingerly, glancing suspiciously at the offering.
“What is this?”
“Open it,” he said.
She did, reluctantly, and he just about wanted to scream, he was that excited. But he held it in and watched as she took out five crisp, new one-hundred-dollar bills.
She stared down at the money, and Cramer waited breathlessly for her to respond. He wondered, after a bit, if she was crying, but when she finally raised her head, her eyes were dry and cold and hard.
“Where’d you get this?”
He had rehearsed this moment all day, and it sure hadn’t been like this.
“What do you mean, where did I get it?” he said.
“Hank’s away, isn’t he? Did you take this from the till?” Her eyes were large, troubled.
“Do you think I’d steal from Hank?”
“I don’t know what you’d do.”
“Jesus! What do you even care where I got it!” He was immediately angry at himself-at the irritation in his voice.
Her eyes skittered away from him. She looked haggard. He wondered suddenly if she was ill or something.
“Mom,” he said, his voice soft. “I got a bank loan, okay?”
She looked at him with surprise. “You did what?”
“I got a bank loan. Hank cosigned for me.” She looked down at the money sitting on the open palm of her right hand. He reached across the table and closed her hand around the money. She stared at her fist. “There’s a pretty good chance I’m going to get hired on full-time at the plant,” he said quietly, as if he was talking to a sick person. “That’ll mean a raise and benefits and all that kind of stuff. And so I thought, why wait? You need the money now and you’ve got it.”
She didn’t look up, and since the aroma of the pizza was driving him crazy, he launched in, with one eye on her waiting for the smile, the thank-you. He had no idea what was going on in her head. No idea whether she believed him or not, and he didn’t even really care at this point. She had managed to siphon just about every drop of joy out of the moment. It hadn’t been easy to lay his hands on that kind of money. He didn’t want much in return. But damn it all, she could at least acknowledge it.
> And then she did in a most unexpected way. She started laughing. He looked at her and saw the smile on her face and started laughing as well. This was more like it. But he stopped laughing eventually and was well into his second slice of pizza before she stopped. And by then, he was really seriously beginning to wonder whether his mother was losing her mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A week passed with no word from the cops on the missing guitars or the JVC. Roach did phone back to say he had talked to Peters. The old man had been at a farm auction all the way down in South Mountain on the Saturday, or so he said. He’d bought a new UTV-had the dated receipt to prove it. When Roach told him what he was looking for, Peters invited him in, without a search warrant. Let him search his truck and his car as well.
“He could have hidden them anywhere,” said Mimi when Jay reported the call to her. “He’s got a pile of outbuildings up there in Paradise.”
“Roach admitted that, but he doubts Peters is the culprit. Apparently, he only just made it back from the auction, hauling the UTV because of car trouble. When the cop was there, the car was up on blocks with the motor stripped down.”
“What about his truck?”
“The license plates are from 1976. He’s not supposed to take it on the road.”
“Yeah, but he does.”
“Only out here. He’d get pulled over for sure if he took it on any main roads.”
“So the car-on-blocks thing is a trick.”
Jay looked hard at her. “Do you really think Peters is that smart?”
No, she didn’t, but the police investigation sounded pretty dumb.
“Phone them back,” said Mimi a few days later. Jay threw up his hands. So she contacted Constable Roach herself, who filled her in on the latest details.
“We’ve expanded the search to Toronto and Montreal,” he said. “Plus we’re checking eBay. We’re still looking. The items are on all kinds of databanks now. The serial numbers are a big help.” Thanks for reminding me, thought Mimi, but she didn’t say anything. “Sometimes stolen goods turn up months later. There’s a big bust and when we sort through the goodies-voila!”
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