Abandoned

by Jay Harez

  “Oh, I’ll probably set a spell in stunned fascination at the silence,” Lloyd, Sr. responded holding back a grin.

  Lloyd, Jr. chuckled.

  As soon as they were in the house and showered Lloyd Sr. broke out the Big Pot. Lloyd, Jr. knew the Big Pot to come out only on special occasions, namely the Gumbo Cook-off and on his birthday. Neither of those events was eminent. Lloyd, Jr. decided today was the day he was going to master patience and didn’t ask. Lloyd, Jr. missed his mother on nights like this. She would have dropped a subtle hint as to what was afoot.

  “Lloyd run down to the corner and pick up two twelve packs.” Lloyd Sr. said.

  “Okay Papa.” Lloyd Jr. said trying to figure out this new dimension to the evening.

  “We’ll probably have company tonight.” Lloyd Sr. said preemptively.

  “Okay Papa.” Lloyd Jr. was out the door in a flash, he made the purchase and the four mile round trip in what he thought was record time. He arrived home – in his opinion – much too late. Six pickups and a station wagon were parked in front of his father’s house and he recognized all of them from the mine parking lot. The belonged to Roger Hillock, Warren Landry, Marvin Geofferies, Sumner Cole, Evan George, Santi Bernard, and Vincent DeMarco – all of the men scheduled to go under.

  Lloyd Jr. entered the house to the sounds of laughter and knee slapping. The men had taken up all of the living room furniture and a couple of the dining table chairs. He noticed his father had extended the dining table and used the extra leaf that usually remained in the pantry along with the ironing board and broom. They all smoked and talked loudly while they waited for the gumbo to stew. Several discussions were going on about who was going to be traded this year, whose wife was pregnant, and the Middle East.

  “Truth be told I’d rather be in hell with my back broke!" Evan offered.

  “From what I understand it’s just a few days.” Lloyd Sr. offered.

  He was the undisputed master of the understated. Lloyd, Jr. recognized it was an intentional ploy. The survey would be conducted over three, ten hour days, Saturday through Monday - Labor Day.

  Lloyd Jr. heard the change in his father’s tone and knew something was up.

  “Lloyd Jr., how’d things go at the store?” Cole asked with a grin.

  A few of the men chuckled and Lloyd Jr. felt his face warm. He and his father had the skin tone indicative of their Creole heritage. Though neither had as dark a complexion as Sotolongo, Lloyd Jr. was grateful the men couldn’t see him blush.

  “Fine,” Was all Lloyd Jr. had to say as he made his way past the table and began putting the beer in the refrigerator.

  “No point in putting them all away,” Hillock stated offhandedly.

  Lloyd Jr. looked at his father who nodded and he began distributing the cold beverages. With each eager hand he filled the sound of the pull-tab being opened followed.

  The new clerk at the Hoggly Woggly Market occupied Lloyd Jr.’s thoughts. It was a tiny, rundown mockery of a modern convenience store that people only went to when they didn’t want to drive the eleven miles into Lafayette. Wendy was the new employee that had become the talk of the men in town to the chagrin of as many wives.

  “Yeah the Hoggly Woggly Market has had quite an increase in business from what I understand,” DeMarco said.

  “How the hell would you recognize an increase in business?” Landry asked.

  “Well I go by one or four times a week,” DeMarco said with a grin. “And, I think I would like to get to know that little clerk better.”

  The men all chuckled at this.

  Wendy, the new clerk at the Hoggly Woggly was striking, no one could deny that. She had dark hair that hung just past her shoulders and large almond shaped eyes that made Lloyd Jr. unsteady on his feet. She had moved to New Iberia from Alexandria and started working at the store shortly after she arrived.

  “That guhl don’t want your lard ass on top of her,” Landry offered to increased laughter. “Now Junior here, he’s young and fleet of foot, he might have a shot.”

  Lloyd Jr. had made his way to the bench in front of the bay window where he had a view of their front yard and the assembled vehicles. He turned and watched the sun setting behind the moss-covered Cypress trees in the distance.

  Lloyd Sr. served the gumbo in large bowls and the men slurped and gulped their approval.

  Lloyd Jr. was bursting with anticipation. For the life of him he could not figure out what had prompted this gathering. Lloyd Sr. was not prone to having houseguests.

  “Lloyd we wanted to talk to you about going under this weekend,” Landry stated without preamble.

  The realization struck Lloyd Jr. but he remained stoic in the face of discovery.

  “Well, I didn’t get drawn,” Lloyd Sr., said unnecessarily as he sat down in front of his own bowl.

  “You gon’ jus’ sit around here and watch Gunsmoke all weekend?” Hillock asked.

  “I was always partial to the Rifleman,” Lloyd Sr. responded.

  “I ain’t got time for this,” Santi said.

  Lloyd Sr. regarded Santi with the same look he had when those animal rescue commercials came on late at night. It was sadness mixed with the frustration.

  “What’s your rush Santi, you got a beer,” Landry countered.

  There was a knock at the door. Lloyd Jr. got up and opened it to find Guilbeaux and Sotolongo looking as if they knew more than he did about what was happening.

  “Any gumbo left?” Sotolongo asked without making a move to enter before he was invited.

  “Yeah, come on in,” Lloyd Jr. said as he stepped aside for the men to pass.

  “Well this went to hell in a hurry,” Hillock said taking a swallow of his beer.

  “We suspected there might be some sort of labor dispute going on,” Guilbeaux said.

  Over the next two hours Lloyd Jr. got to see negotiation in its most artistic form. First, all of the men tried to recall the many years they had worked with Lloyd Sr., Sotolongo and Guilbeaux. This was a vain hope that their histories would be a factor in setting terms. Lloyd Sr. seldom found himself beholding to anyone and the men trying to get him to take their place over the holiday gained no ground there.

  Second, was a general discussion about what plans Lloyd Sr. might have, vacations, and retirement and fishing trips. Lloyd didn’t offer much on any of the subjects and the men found the process increasingly frustrating.

  Finally, they began talking about their elaborate and costly plans they had for the three-day weekend, seeking sympathy. Lloyd Sr. was not a man without compassion but this was a financial decision and he never made those hastily or based on emotion.

  Lloyd Jr. watched and listened intently. After several hours it came down to a simple and far from subtle bidding process.

  Santi was the first to ‘break the seal’.

  “Lloyd, how much do you want?” Santi asked.

  “We’ll take one hundred dollars each,” Guilbeaux said. Sotolongo turned and looked at him as if he had just said something derogatory about the Holy See. Guilbeaux returned his gaze with a shrug of the shoulders and upturned palms. Lloyd Sr. focused on his beer.

  “One hundred dollars?” Landry asked of the ceiling.

  Santi stood up walked over to the two men and pulled four twenty-dollar bills out of his pocket.

  “How’s my credit?” he asked extending the bills.

  Guilbeaux snatched the four bills out of his hand and stood up.

  “Your credit is good ‘til payday at least,” Guilbeaux said and stood to shake his hand. Sotolongo just glared at Guilbeaux.

  “How many alligators did your daddy have to breed with in order to bring you into the world?” Sotolongo asked.

  Guilbeaux looked stunned and a little bit hurt.

  “What?” Guilbeaux asked.

  Getting no answer, he went outside to wait for Sotolongo to make his own deal and join him.

  By the end of the night Sotolongo had replaced DeMarco. Lloyd Sr. h
adn’t found an offer he liked and the other men left angry.

  The next day was Friday; the morning went smoothly and at noon the men gathered for lunch in the cafeteria.

  Tyonne entered, collected his box lunch from Milli and turned to leave. As he passed Lloyd Sr.’s table he gave a nod similar to the one he had given yesterday when Lloyd Sr. had technically saved his life.

  Lloyd Jr. caught the exchange, glanced at his father and returned his attention to his po’boy sandwich. After Tyonne left Lloyd Sr. bussed his tray and approached the table occupied by Roger Hillock and Marvin Geofferies.

  They were out of earshot of Lloyd Jr. but he watched his father pull a small piece of paper out of his pocket and place it on the table in front of the two. Hillock looked at it intently. Geofferies was slightly behind him as he had to locate his cheaters and get them adjusted on the bridge of his nose. Geofferies grinned as if he had just found the baby in the King Cake.

  UNDER

  Saturday morning Lloyd Jr. got up earlier than normal. He put on his work clothes and realized he had never done a survey before and had no idea what he might need. He thought it wise to just bring everything. He knew it was going to be a hot day and he was thankful that salt mine temperatures kept to around seventy degrees Fahrenheit year round.

  He entered the kitchen to find his father sitting at the table smoking a cigarette and reading the Bible. Lloyd Sr. wasn’t a religious man in the traditional sense. Being Creole he had been taught about voodoo and attended mass as a child. Whatever his beliefs had been before, after he returned from Korea he had lost all interest in rituals and religions - but he still got something out of reading scripture.

  “Morning,” Lloyd Sr. said.

  “Morning,” Lloyd Jr. said.

  “Coffee’s made.” Lloyd Sr. said.

  Lloyd Jr. looked at his father who was also in his work clothes.

  “Thanks,” Lloyd Jr. said. As he poured a cup he realized his father was going under as well.

  “Geofferies?” he finally asked.

  “Yep,” Lloyd, Sr. said suppressing his grin.

  The drive to the mine was shorter today in Lloyd Jr.’s mind. To his surprise and his father’s chagrin almost all of the miners were there.

  “Pa?” Lloyd Jr. asked as they entered the lot.

  “Shit. Grab your gear stay with me and don’t make eye contact with these bastards until we can get to Tyonne. You understand?” Lloyd asked.

  “Yes sir,” Lloyd Jr. said.

  Lloyd Sr. parked keeping the large mining trucks between them and the animated crowd of miners. They grabbed their gear and made a circuit of the angry group unseen.

  The shouts and profanity grew louder as they got closer to the crowd. Everyone was focused on the shaft entrance where Tyonne was standing with Sotolongo, Guilbeaux, Hillock, Landry and Eleanor near the skip. Pirogue was off to the side looking sheepish and a little afraid. Almost twenty miners were shouting curses at Tyonne and none of them noticed the Dougget’s as they made their way around the group. Father and son appeared behind Tyonne as if by magic and the crowd stopped shouting for the two seconds it took to realize what had happened.

  “You fucked us real good Tyonne!” someone shouted.

  “You too Guilbeaux and I’ll be damned if you get another penny out of me!” Santi shouted.

  “I didn’t know goddamnit! I just found out five minutes ago!” Guilbeaux shouted back but his protests were lost in the den.

  “Tyonne you and your half-nigger buddy…” De Marco started but was stopped short as Lloyd Sr. stepped forward, dropped to one knee in front of DeMarco, and drove a straight punch into his solar plexus.

  DeMarco’s eyes grew wide and he did his best to remain standing but eventually collapsed backwards. The other miners opted not to voice any more observations about Lloyd, Sr.’s heritage.

  “Whether you knew or not the only fair way to have done this was through the lotto. Now if some of you dumbasses went and traded away what was rightfully yours I suggest take solace in the story of Esau, you ain’t the first and you damn sure won’t be the last,” Tyonne said.

  The miners dispersed grumbling. The crew waited until all of them were gone and fired up the skip. Pirogue, Hillock and Landry went down first with the equipment. Lloyd, Sr. joined the others near the mine entrance to wait for the skip to come back up.

  “How’d they hear?” Lloyd Sr. asked.

  “College,” was all Tyonne said in response.

  “I wish you’d a told us?” Guilbeaux said to no one in particular.

  “What in Shinola would have happened differently?” Tyonne asked.

  “Just shut up Guilbeaux,” Sotolongo said. “That was a pretty good punch though.”

  Lloyd Jr. was in shock. He had never seen his father fight, or in this case, put a man down. Secondly he still had no idea what was happening or why. He decided that the lessons in patience would have to resume after the weekend.

  “Pa?” Lloyd Jr. asked.

  “Triple over-time,” was all Lloyd Sr. said.

  Lloyd Jr. hadn’t considered the pay for this weekend but this was a Federal project on a Federal Holiday. He rocked back on his feet a little. Three, ten hour days under, meant thirty hours at twenty-two dollars an hour came to over six hundred dollars. That was more than Lloyd Jr. made in three weeks.

  It was no wonder the other men were upset, some of them had lost out on close to a thousand dollars depending on their tenure. It was enough money to buy a car or make several month's mortgage or… His thoughts were interrupted as the skip returned empty and the remainder of the party stepped onto it.

  Lloyd, Jr. remembered the first time he had taken the skip under and his excitement at not only working side by side with his father but at being counted a man. Of course he had started out as a tool-runner and general go-fer but he had earned his way into the ranks and could now call himself a miner.

  “Cole and George?” Lloyd Sr. asked.

  “No shows,” Tyonne responded. “However, the more pressing matter is how Lloyd Jr. here will spend that money on that cashier.”

  The skip began its descent.

  Guilbeaux and Sotolongo chuckled at that. Lloyd Jr. shook his head in mock disgust.

  The soft hum of from the moving platform took on a more meaningful tone today. To Lloyd, Jr. it sounded like opportunity.

  “That was a good punch though.” Sotolongo agreed. “Young Lloyd, did you hear about the time your daddy literally knocked the shit out of a man?”

  Lloyd Jr.’s face lit up. The rumor around the mine was that before his father had married his mother he was the local bare-knuckle boxing champion.

  “Can’t say that I have,” Lloyd Jr. said barely containing his enthusiasm.

  “Yep, your daddy knocked a turd out of that man as long as a rake handle,” Guilbeaux concluded.

  Lloyd Jr. looked at his father with a sincerely confused expression on his face.

  “In instances of extreme shock a person may lose control of their functions,” Lloyd Sr. said stoically while checking his gear.

  “The moral of the story young Lloyd, is, don’t fight your daddy on a full stomach.” Sotolongo concluded. Even Tyonne found that funny.

  Celia’s Boudin and Dry Cleaning

  At ten-thirty Saturday morning Celia’s Boudin and Dry Cleaning had just opened its doors. Celia, the proprietress, had taken over the place when she was just seventeen. Now, nearly forty years later she had lost her initial enthusiasm about being a business owner along with most of her customer service skills.

  This morning she was slightly hungover and had not had her coffee yet so the sight of Preet, DeMarco, and Santi entering her establishment was not a welcome one.

  “Fuck ya’ll tryna eat this time a morning?” Celia asked.

  “Coffee,” DeMarco responded.

  “Grits,” Preet said.

  “Bourbon?” Santi asked.

  “You motha-fuckas look like your wives all rund oft toge
ther,” Celia said ushering the men inside and to a nearby table.

  “Dranks is extry this time a’ morning, an’ don even aks for credic.” she said.

  “Yes ma’am,” Santi said.

  Fifteen minutes after the men were seated Celia returned with the grits, coffee, and Bourbon. Santi was the first to pull out a few bills and hand them over. Celia took the money without counting it, stuffed it in her bra and exited through the swinging kitchen doors. The men didn’t expect her to return anytime soon.

  “Well what can we do?” Santi asked looking at DeMarco then at his glass.

  “Do?” Preet asked through a mouth full of grits.

  “Nothing far as I can tell,” DeMarco responded as he took a sip of his coffee.

  “We ought a be able to do something. I mean it ain’t right,” Santi said.

  “What ain't right?” Preet asked looking from one man to the other like a spectator at a tennis match.

  “Tyonne, Lloyd Sr., College, probably the dike, they all knew about the pay,” DeMarco said.

  “Yeah, them sumbitches knew all right,” Santi said. “They all think they’re so goddam smart.”

  “Who’s smart?” Preet asked with increasing frustration at not being included.

  “It’s a federal job on a federal holiday. Tyonne and Lloyd and the rest of ‘em, they fucked us out of close to a thousand dollars,” Santi finally explained to him.

  The light of realization went on in Preet’s eyes. Santi and DeMarco looked at each other for the briefest moment then returned their attention to their beverages.

  “Well I know what to do!” Preet said slamming his hand down on the table.

  DeMarco saw the opening and went for it. “Now don’t go getting’ mad every time Tyonne outwits ya. Hell, he loves you like his dog.”

  “He does love that dumb animal don’t he?” Santi said shaking his head in disapproval.

  Preet jumped to his feet and ran out of the restaurant. DeMarco and Santi laughed as they heard the tires of Preet’s truck trying to gain traction in the red clay parking lot then squeal as the truck reached the asphalt.