“I learned my lesson ’bout that,” I tell him through the window.
He just laughs.
I put the steaks under the broiler at five. I know it will take about eight minutes on each side, so they will be ready when Mother walks in the door. She usually comes through the door and is in her housedress before either of us can say hello. But tonight, she will stay in her professional clothes and be ready to sit down for dinner.
After I turn the steaks, I take the pie and the potatoes out of the oven. I heat up the skillet for the onions, put a spoonful of congealed bacon grease Mother keeps on the stove all the time into the pan.
As the onions fry up, I set the table. I put ice in glasses and pour iced tea from the pitcher. Just as I’m taking the steaks up to rest a minute before we cut into them, Mother pulls into the garage. Perfect timing.
“Dinner is served,” I announce as she comes through the door, and we all take our places, with me carrying the platter of steaks.
Daddy cuts into his and proclaims, “Perfection, King Cat.”
I talk about Lion in Winter as we eat. I don’t know if Mother and Daddy want to hear about the show, but they respond to me like I’m the best conversationalist in the world.
I finish with, “And I think I have a good chance at winning best actor with Henry. If we can go all the way to state and that happens there, I’m a shoo-in for an acting scholarship.”
Daddy says, “Good for you. But I’ve got savings if that doesn’t happen. The important thing is you go to college.”
Daddy has been harping on that since before I started school. He’s big on college.
“And going to college will keep you out of the war. Hopefully, before you finish your four years, Nixon will end that thing. Every day, the news is full of our boys paying their dues over there. Sickens me.”
My cousin’s death made a big impression on Daddy. He was still proud of Danny, but he had ceased to think we were making a difference in Vietnam.
“Danny dying over there is enough grief for this family.” Poor Aunt Juney and Uncle Bert are still grieving. They are functioning, but the grief still lingers. I guess that’s to be expected. It really hasn’t been that long since Danny was killed. But it has been long enough for Daddy to do a complete 360 in his attitude about the war.
I try to lighten the mood. “Looks like we’ll be sold out every performance this weekend. LOVE is a big hit.”
“You deserve it, dear. It’s a wonderful show.”
“Sure is,” Daddy adds. “Opened my eyes.”
“That’s what we hoped it would do. For a lot of people. I wonder if we will hold it over for another weekend. That would be amazing.”
“Yes, it would, dear. And speaking of amazing, Dewey, you’ve outdone yourself. The dinner is delicious. And it looks like your daddy is ready for pie.”
“I can wait till you two are finished,” Daddy says.
We wrap up dinner, and Daddy helps me take the dishes to the kitchen after Mother rushes off to her meeting.
“Leave the dishes, Dewey. I’ll do them.”
I don’t linger. It’s not often Daddy offers to wash dishes.
I go to my room, but before I close the door, I pull the phone in. I dial LuLu’s number.
“Belton residence.” The first time I heard that greeting I thought they had a maid, but LuLu assured me it was just the doctor’s wife, putting on airs.
“May I speak to LuLu, please?”
“And whom may I say is calling?”
I’ve called there enough the woman should recognize my voice, but she either likes acting the maid or she doesn’t care to register the voices of LuLu’s friends. I suspect it’s the latter.
“Dewey Snodgress.”
“One moment, please.”
After a minute, I hear LuLu’s voice on the line. “You can hang up now. I have it.” And the doctor’s wife hangs up the extension. “She’s fond of listening in.”
“So you’ve told me.”
“What’s up, DewDew?”
I had done a lot of thinking since the afternoon, and I’d worked up my courage to ask LuLu something. “Why do you insist I’m… you know?”
“Gay? It’s a perfectly good word, DewDew. You should use it sometime. And what prompts this question? Or is it a veiled confession?” I can see the smirk on her face telegraphing across the phone lines.
“I know the word. And no, this is not a confession. You know Charles?”
“Not personally, but, yes.”
“Well, people keep telling me he’s gay.” The word is very hard for me to say. That’s funny because I say it a lot as Randy. But that’s on stage, and Randy is not Dewey. Not me.
“Uh-huh. So you’ve told me. Never used that word, but I got your drift. Go on.”
“So I figure if you tell me why you keep insisting about me—I’m not, I reiterate—maybe I can apply your reasoning to Charles. Might be faulty reasoning, I must point out, though.”
“Reiterate? Been boning up for the SAT, have you?” I hate it when she’s so smug. But that’s LuLu.
“Cut it out. Just answer my question.”
“Okay. Let me see. The way you walk. Just a little swish.” I start to say something, but she quickly adds, “Not much. The way you talk. Some of the words you use. Like girl. The way you say it. Some of your gestures. Not a lot of limp-wristed stuff, but a little. The way you look at other guys. Especially your boyfriend Jeep.”
I thought this would be easier to take. I was wrong. “So that’s what you think of me. Swishy and limp-wristed? Ogling guys all the time?” I didn’t want anger to come into my voice, but it’s there.
“Hold up, baby. You asked. And lest you think all gay boys have those traits, let me caution you. It takes all kinds of people to make the world, and we’re all different. Some gay boys act like that, and others don’t. You absolutely can’t judge by looking. But the traits I said? They’re what make you you. And that’s what I love about you.” She’s trying to appease me.
“Sure,” I say. But I’m not convincing her, I know. I’m still wounded by what she said.
“Come on, baby. I’ve known a lot of guys who walk like you, talk like you, act like you. And they’re not gay.” LuLu’s a great actress, but even she can’t pull that statement off. She’s probably right. As they say, you can’t judge a book by its cover. But LuLu is not convincing me.
But I asked. And I don’t like the answer. Maybe I should just drop it.
“How are the doctor and his wife?” I ask, abruptly changing the subject.
“Same old, same old. Don’t matter to me. I’ll be outta here in a flash, come June.”
“So you say, so you say.”
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“It’s not that.” I think of what a great relationship I have with my parents. “I just wish you could leave without totally alienating your folks.”
“Believe me, DewDew, I alienated—as you so SAT-ly put it—them long ago. This threesome is dead. Just waiting for the burial. When I get to Hollywood, there will be no looking back.”
“I love you, LuLu,” I say, not knowing how to respond to what she said and wanting to say something.
“Love you too, baby. Now, don’t you have some homework? I’ve got mine all done, but you’re not as smart as me.”
We both laugh, and then I tell her good-bye.
So, if what she says about me makes me that way, Charles might very well be that way too. I’m not, but he could be. I guess I need to keep a watch.
As for LuLu, I hate that her parents don’t appreciate her. I wonder, when she leaves, will they be sad? I know mine will, and I’m just leaving for college.
Chapter 16
LOVE CAME to an end. We had fantastic audiences for our holdover weekend, but too many people were tied up to play it any longer. That, and the fact it is always good to end on a high note. Four sold-out houses for the end of the run is nothing to sneeze at. There was a great cast pa
rty on the final night where everybody vowed to stay in touch.
But this is the theater. Best friends while doing the show; strangers when it ends. No one called. And I have to admit I didn’t pick up the phone either.
Except for LuLu.
We talk almost every day. She’s still plotting her getaway. She reads Daily Variety like it’s her bible, looking for Hollywood casting calls. Of course, the paper is a week old by the time it gets to the Fort Worth Public Library, but she just says it’s good prep for when she lands in La-La Land. And I just laugh at her. But not so loud and hard it dampens her spirits. I could never do that. First of all, LuLu’s spirits are undampenable, and secondly, she is my inspiration. If she faces each day as the beginning of a great life, I can do the same.
Lion in Winter has moved along. I have spent every waking minute—well, the ones not talking to LuLu or Jo on the phone—working on my character. If I do say so, Henry is one of the best portrayals I’ve ever done. Sometimes I feel like I’m walking around in his skin. I’m convinced I’ve got him almost where I want him. Which is a good thing, because the six weeks of rehearsal have flown by, and the contest is Saturday, tomorrow.
Mr. Waters has a quirk I’ve never heard of in a director. He thinks his cast and crew have to have downtime before a performance. So we had our invited audience dress rehearsal on Thursday night, and tonight’s for decompressing, as he calls it.
The dress was awesome. Everything perfection. We clocked in at thirty-seven minutes, forty-eight seconds. The show can’t be more than forty minutes, so we have almost a minute and a half to spare. I was Henry. I’m not lying or trying to sound conceited. When I was on that stage, Henry II invaded my body, and Dewey took a nap. Well, not literally, because that would be stupid.
Mother and Daddy came to the dress, as did Grandma and Grandpa. I didn’t want them at the actual contest. Too much pressure, knowing they’d be out there. But this dress? No problem. They attacked me with love when it was over.
“Sweet Pea, you were magnificent,” Mother said as she squeezed the wind out of me.
“Great job, King Cat,” Daddy said, ruffling my hair, which we had sprayed darker since Henry was not a ginger, as the British would say. Daddy added, “You really gave that queer son Richard a piece of your mind,” and laughed.
I didn’t like hearing that, but he was in a good mood, and I wasn’t about to spoil it.
Grandma and Grandpa hugged me too, then all four left for home.
No one else was there at the dress. Not for me, anyway. I’d told LuLu about it, but she said she had to go to a function that night. She didn’t explain, and it sounded like a made-up excuse to me, but I let it go. Maybe she was afraid to come into honky land.
Nah—not LuLu.
So here it is Friday, and I have nothing to do. I could study my script, but there is something called overkill, as LuLu reminds me constantly. She can’t stand I’m so anal-retentive/obsessive-compulsive—terms she likes to use and had to explain to me—I can’t let go and let God. Or Dionysius, as she prefers. She says I rehearse myself to death when there’s no need. And, in fact, she has added a zillion times, if I would just trust the god of the theater will guide me, I’d be a lot better off—and ulcer free, she adds.
So today I’m taking her advice. I haven’t seen or talked to Butch in over a month. I’ve not been doing my usual sitting in the foyer gig. Too nervous about Henry. If I’d sat on my bench, Butch would come to visit, and I would not be able to study my script. So I’ve avoided Butch. With a lot of guilt, I might add. So now is the time to make it up to him.
As soon as I get home, I dial his number. His kid sister answers, as usual.
When Butch comes to the phone, I ask if he wants to come for a cooking lesson. I figured we could do some cookies to take to contest tomorrow.
“Can’t,” Butch says.
“Can’t? Why?”
“If you hadn’t been avoiding me for the last few weeks, you’d know.” I hear hurt in Butch’s voice, and that pains me.
“Butch, I’m so sorry. I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve just been focused on the contest show. Really.”
“Yeah, sure. You didn’t ignore me when you were doing that other play. Why’s this one different? I’m thinking I’m not good enough to be your friend anymore.”
Where is this coming from? “Really, Butch. I’m just compulsive.” I don’t voice the rest of LuLu’s diagnosis. “I knew my character in LOVE really well from the very beginning. But Henry has kicked my butt. He is not like me in any way, shape, or form. So I’ve been totally spending all my time with him. It’s like he’s been my best friend and worst enemy for the last month.”
“And you couldn’t spare even a few minutes for your real best friend?” I still hear the hurt.
He’d never used the best word. And it had never occurred to me. I guess Butch did consider me his best friend. And maybe he was mine. At least in the male category. LuLu takes the Oscar in Best Female Friend category.
“Butch, I’m really sorry. We are friends, really good friends, best friends probably. And I should have made time for you. And that’s what I’m trying to do now. This is the first free time I’ve had, and I want to spend it with you.”
“I really wish I could, Dewey. Spend some time with you today.” There is a brighter tone in his voice. “But I’ve got to work.”
“Work? Since when do you have a job?” If Butch had gotten a job and I didn’t know about it, now I really feel guilty.
“Two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks? Butch, the next time you see me, I want you to punch me. Hard. In the gut. A good friend would know about something as important as your getting a job.”
“I’d never punch you, Dewey,” he said, laughing.
“So—tell me about it. Why’d you get a job? What kind of a job? Where?”
“Slow your roll, as Mama says. I got a job because Mama is working herself sick. Daddy doesn’t do nothing anymore. ’Cept sit around and drink beer.” I heard derision, disgust, disdain—all the d-words—in his voice. And it hurt me to hear him like this. But then he brightened up. “So I saw a help-wanted sign at Der Wienerschnitzel, and I applied. Two weeks, and you’re talking to the new assistant manager, my friend.”
“Only two weeks, and you’ve already got a promotion? Wow.”
“Kinda had to promote me. The old AM was eight months pregnant. They let her go when she looked like she would pop out a baby at any minute. I was the next in line.”
He laughed so hard I laughed with him. It felt so good to talk to him and laugh with him. I realized I’d missed him. And I realized LuLu was right. I had to curb some of these destructive tendencies I have—another d-word that shouldn’t be applied to good people. I can be a good actor without losing friends over it.
“So-o-o….” I drew the word out, slightly making my move. “If I show up on your shift, do I get a free dog?”
“I’ve only been there a couple a’ weeks, and you’re already trying to get me fired. You’re evil, Dewey Snodgress. That’s no way to treat your poor, hardworking friend.”
“Just kidding. Just kidding. Is the pay any good?”
“Started out minimum wage. Got a raise with the promotion. I’m bringing home enough to help Mama. She quit the night job, thank God. Now she can breathe again. She needs to save up enough for a lawyer, but she’ll never do that. I don’t know why, but she’s chained to him. Maybe she sees the man he used to be, not the man he is.”
I feel for Butch. His daddy is a burden to the family, but I guess when his mama has been married to him as long as she has, it’s easier to just put up with him. Or maybe she loves him. I don’t see how. But stranger things have happened.
“Dewey, soon as this contest’s over, we’ll catch up. Right now, I’m puttin’ on my hot dog hat and headin’ out the door.”
“See you, Butch. You’re doing a good thing for your mama.”
We hang up. I realize I’d not told him ab
out the contest tomorrow. Anybody could come to watch. I didn’t know if Butch could get a ride across town or not. Mr. Waters’s pretty friend, the director at DHJ, volunteered to host District Contest this year. I hope that wasn’t to gain home-court advantage because if there is anyone to beat, it is Diamond Hill-Jarvis. That woman knows her stuff.
Butch probably has to work tomorrow anyway. Saturdays are big days for Der Wienerschnitzel.
So no cooking lesson today. What will I do with my time? Study my script? No—nonono. Get out of my brain, LuLu.
I dial Joanna’s house. She picks up.
“Hey, Jo. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on? This is not my cousin speaking. The day before contest, and you call to shoot the breeze? Where’s my cuz? What’d you do with him?”
I laugh. “Good one, Joey. I’m trying to not obsess.”
“Good idea, Brando. What’s going on, you ask? I’m trying to decide what to cook for dinner because Mom is still holed up in her bedroom.”
“Still? It’s been over two months, almost three.”
“I know. She does get herself to work, but as soon as the workday finishes, she comes home and goes straight to bed. I take a tray to her for dinner. And she’s been eating some.”
“That’s good news.”
“Yeah. Your mom’s been a big help. And Granny. But I guess she’ll come out when she’s ready. Thank God Daddy is back among the living.” I hear her voice break. “Bad choice of words. Sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, Jo. You’ve been the rock your parents have been leaning on ever since D—” I stop. Back up. “Ever since this thing happened. You can crumble if you want.”
“You can say it, Dewey. I’m not that fragile. Danny was murdered in Vietnam. See? I can say it, so you can say it.”
I like hearing the anger in her voice, for it sure beats hearing grief. Although I know the grief is still lurking under the surface.
“Shit. That f-ing war is taking too many. Damn Johnson!” I explode with anger, just thinking of Danny and all the guys getting killed and maimed over there.
All You Need Is Love Page 20