Harvey Porter Does Dallas

by James Bennett

  She gave a wave of her hand and pulled the corner of a scarf over her shoulder. “Another reason to loathe machines,” she said. “Well, Bailey, I guess you’ve got another trip to the vending machine. I certainly can’t drink this.”

  Bailey marched back down the corridor to the coffee machine. How could it start out any worse? he wondered. He bought a new cup of coffee, careful to push the cream and extra sugar buttons. Then he went back to her desk. He was assaulted again by the foul smell in her cubicle.

  “Thank you, Bailey, this is kind of you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Ingrid Finch crossed her legs and put her hands in her lap. “All these years you have avoided me like the plague. Now then. What’s this favor you want from me?”

  Bailey just blurted it out: “My wife and I would like you to come to our house and do a reading on our boarder.”

  “What boarder?”

  As quickly as he could, and trying (but failing) to not seem too negative, he summarized the Harvey Porter history.

  “And this young man claims to be a relative of yours?”

  “That’s what he claims. I don’t believe it for a minute.”

  Ingrid sipped some of her coffee. “That’s much better,” she said. “Okay, Bailey Mushrush, I shall accept your invitation. When would you like me to come?”

  Never, thought Mushrush. But he replied by saying, “Well, if it’s not too much trouble, my wife was hoping you could come this evening.”

  “I see no problem there,” she answered. “I’m free this evening.”

  “Good,” said Bailey. Then he got down to the nitty-gritty: “How much is this going to cost?” He was prepared for the worst. What he got was even worse.

  “I will charge no fee,” replied Ingrid.

  “No fee?”

  “No, no money needs to change hands. However,” she continued, while folding her arms across her chest and leaning back comfortably in her desk chair. “I shall require a few items in return.”

  “Items?” Mushrush wanted to know. “What items?”

  “Well, first, I shall require a calzone. And not just any calzone but one from Avanti’s. They’re the best.”

  “A calzone.” He repeated her words.

  “Yes. Secondly, I shall require a slice of pizza, but only the best. It must be a gut-buster from Garcia’s.

  “A pizza slice.”

  “Thirdly, I shall require a large Otis Spunkmeyer cookie of chocolate chips and macadamia nuts. Are you writing this down?” she asked sharply.

  “No.”

  “Well, you’d better get after it then.”

  The sheepish Mushrush took a piece of scrap paper from her desk and started writing. “Where was the pizza from?”

  “Garcia’s. You see, if you’d been writing this down, we could move ahead faster. Finally, I shall require a large Dr. Pepper, but it must be a fountain drink, not one that’s bottled or canned.”

  “Okay, I think I’ve got it all,” said Bailey, writing furiously.

  “What time will you be picking me up this evening?” asked Ingrid, with the wicked smile returning.

  “You want me to pick you up? Can’t you just drive?”

  “My old Chevy is rust-ridden and often unreliable. I don’t want to be out alone at night, a single woman on her own.”

  You’d probably scare any street thug to death, he thought. Bailey sighed. “Okay, I’ll pick you up then. Will seven o’clock be okay?”

  “That would be splendid. I shall be ready when you arrive.” Then she took some scrap paper of her own and wrote briefly. Handing it to Bailey, she said, “Here’s my home address. It isn’t hard to find.”

  Then Mushrush excused himself and left, headed straight for the bathroom. It was a nasty errand but it was over. He did some washing up with soap and water, but felt like he needed to strip down and cover himself in Aqua-Velva.

  He left early from work, dreading the evening to come. First he drove home where everybody was gone except Harvey. He was smoking in the living room and studying the SAS reading list. He found it very interesting, and he’d never been a book reader his whole life.

  “What have I told you about the smoking?” bellowed Mushrush.

  “Oh right, Mr. M. Sorry. I’ll just finish this one and then put it out. How’d that be?”

  “What choice do I have?”

  “I’ll tell you what, Mr. M.” said Harvey. “This reading list looks really cool.”

  Mushrush had no interest whatsoever with respect to what Harvey might think about his reading list. “That’s nice,” he said, heading up the stairs. He took a fast, hot shower, and threw all his clothes into the laundry basket. After he had dried and applied underarm deodorant, he did cover his face, ears, neck, and shoulders with Old Spice.

  And then it dawned on him: This was only temporary. He’d have to repeat the whole procedure later in the evening. Drat the luck!

  Ingrid’s house wasn’t hard to find, but it was sure depressing. The small bungalow may have been nice at one time, but that would be in the distant past. Neglected cedar trees and yew bushes were so out of control they actually made contact with the siding and blocked the windows. The roof was in bad shape, the screen door was hanging by one hinge, all the house’s paint was stripped and peeling. There was no paint at all on the floorboards of the porch, at least the ones that were still there; many were missing. The front steps were sagging and without paint; one of the front porch banisters was broken away.

  This, thought Bailey, is a house which never has visitors. For the first time, he felt sympathy for Ingrid Finch. That sympathy evaporated when she brought her odors into his car. He glanced in the back seat to reassure himself that he’d remembered the large can of Lysol antiseptic air freshener.

  “Well, we’re off!” said Ingrid with gusto as Bailey swung into traffic. “I’m certainly looking forward to this!” she added.

  Bailey took the fastest, straightest route home, speeding all the way. When he pulled into the driveway, he took Ingrid inside and introduced her to his wife. They shook hands. Ingrid waltzed into the living room, shedding scarves on the floor. She parked herself on the small couch. “So. Where’s the dear boy?”

  “You mean Harvey?” Mushrush asked.

  “Yes, of course she means Harvey,” said Wilberta crisply. “I’ll go upstairs and get him.”

  When Harvey entered the living room, Ingrid reacted as she might to Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt. “Oh, you dear, dear child!” she squealed, getting up to embrace him.

  Harvey flinched; she needed some Right Guard. Bad. Or maybe the best thing would be to just strip her down in a meat packing plant and hose her off.

  Dear Child? Mushrush was thinking.

  Dear Child? Bobo was thinking at the same time.

  Ingrid stepped back and gave Harvey a close inspection from head to toe. “Just look at the energy which exudes from him. Can you not feel the vibrations?”

  To Ingrid, Mushrush said, “I can feel the vibes.” To himself, he said I’ve been feeling the vibes for three weeks now and they’re nothing like what you might be feeling.

  At this point Ingrid took over. She said she needed the lights off and a couple of candles burning on the coffee table. She also asked everybody to leave the room. “I will need to be alone with Harvey,” she said, “otherwise I can’t get in my zone of true focus.”

  “Why am I doing this?” Harvey asked.

  “To read you, dear boy. To read the deepest reaches of your soul.”

  “Oh.”

  “If we all have to leave the room,” Bailey asked. “What are we supposed to do?”

  Ingrid had the answer, but by this time she had her thumbs on Harvey’s eyebrows. “What energy you bring!”

  “Hey,” said Bailey. “I asked you a question.”

  “And I heard you,” answered Ingrid without looking in his direction. “I assume your family is creative enough to amuse themselves in rooms that don’t have garish,
huge, thin TV sets. You, on the other hand, have some errands to run. Do you still have your list?”

  Oh drat! Harvey could feel his stomach sink. The calzones, the pizza, the Dr. Pepper and blah, blah, blah. And it wasn’t going to be easy to find these restaurants and shops he was unfamiliar with. “Bobo, you come with me. I need your help.”

  “Sure, Dad.” Bobo said with enthusiasm. Since he was helping out, he wouldn’t have to tell his dad about the detention he’d gotten that day at school.

  “I’ll shut off the lights and get the candles you want,” said Wilberta.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “God, it stinks in here!” said Bobo from the passenger’s seat.

  “Get out of the car,” commanded his father. “And leave your door wide open.” His father also left his own door wide open and sprayed the inside of the car liberally with his jumbo can of Lysol. It masked some of the smell, but not all. “It’s a disinfectant spray as well as a deodorizer,” he said to Bobo as they both buckled up. “When you have odors this obnoxious, can the germs and mites and bacteria be far behind?”

  Bobo didn’t say a thing. All he knew was it still smelled bad.

  Ingrid, meanwhile was conducting her spiritual reading of Harvey. She pressed her thumbs firmly against his cheekbones and then his temples. As she went, she asked him some questions. “Why don’t you tell me about the girl in the family reunion photo?”

  Harvey didn’t know why he was enduring this; the probing from the long, dirty fingernails, the vile smell. “I don’t know anything about her,” he replied.

  “So then, what was it about her that got your attention?”

  “She looked like a half-breed. Her coloring was different than anybody else in the picture.”

  “And?”

  “Well, I think I got some kind of a vibe, just looking at her. Her coloring was about the same as me.”

  “I see, I see.” She took Harvey’s pulse by pressing down on his wrist. Then she felt his eye sockets again (his eyes were closed.)

  The reading lasted forty-five minutes, just as Bailey and Bobo returned from their fetching. They stepped inside. They could hear Ingrid calling to Mrs. Mushrush, “You can turn the lights back on, dear. We are finished!”

  “Can we come back in?”

  “But of course. I have learned much here tonight which I must share. Bring the whole family.” As all the family gathered back in the living room, Wilberta began turning on the lamps. “Do I need to leave the candles burning?”

  “Not at all,” Ingrid replied. And she snapped one of her flimsy scarves at the candles. They went out immediately.

  “Did you see that? asked Sasha.

  Ingrid started talking about linkage. “I feel great linkage through this boy,” she declared.

  “What linkage?” asked Wilberta.

  “All kinds,” she answered. “Linkage to history, to vast areas of the world, to Dallas and Ft. Worth, even to the very cosmos itself.”

  “Linkage to Dallas and Ft. Worth?” asked Wilberta. “Does that mean he could indeed be a relative of ours.”

  “That’s a real possibility. Or it could mean historical linkage in our area.”

  “That’s it?” asked Mushrush impatiently. This is just great; I’ve spent $20 dollars on calzones and cookies, fouled my car and home and clothing just for linkage?

  “Oh, but it means a great deal,” Ingrid asserted. “With his linkage it means he has strong connections to history and the entire cosmos.”

  “Are we done here?” asked Harvey impatiently.

  “We can be.”

  “Good. Since I’ve put up with this crap for almost an hour, I’ve got a few questions for you,” he told her.

  “Fire away,” said Ingrid, with that witchy smile.

  “Okay,” said Harvey. “First of all you got a bathtub or shower in that house of yours?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay, use it. Your smell is nasty. It sucks.”

  “What?” gasped Ingrid Finch as the smile disappeared from her face.

  “I think you heard me.”

  “Do you realize how insulting this is?”

  “Yeah,” Harvey replied, “But I don’t really care. Now don’t get funky on me ’cause I’ve got a couple other questions.”

  “I can only hope they aren’t as insulting as your first one.”

  “Yeah, go ahead and hope for that. Have you got a washing machine?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Good. Use it too. All those layers of scarves just gross me out. Wash ’em once in a while. That’s part of the bad smell problem.”‘

  “Well, even more insults!” huffed Ingrid. “I’ve never seen such an impolite young man. And after all I’ve done for you! You need some lessons in polite behavior.” She got to her feet and started relocating her layers of scarves around her shoulders. Some of them reached below her waist.

  Harvey said, “What you did for me is give me a pounding headache. What happened to all that super linkage? I’ll be headed for the Tylenol bottle. And you’ll thank me for it someday. In the meantime, I’ve got one more question.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Yeah, well we don’t always get what we want. Those fingernails of yours; you got some clippers and a nail file?”

  “I don’t intend to respond to any more of your outrageously offensive questions.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Trim ’em and clean ’em up. The next guy you read may lose an eyeball. If they were clean, it might be different, but they’re gross with dirt. Now that we’re done, I’m gonna have to wash my whole face with soap and water. Right after I take the Tylenol. Okay, that’s it.”

  “Well, I should certainly hope so!” snapped the indignant psychic.

  Bailey couldn’t believe the exchange he had just witnessed. For the first time in three weeks, he liked Harvey Porter! How many of his office co-workers had longed to say these things to Ingrid for more than twenty years! And Harvey was neat and clean, with good table manners. Bailey had to give credit where it was due. He hoped that if any of Harvey rubbed off on his own children it was the table manners.

  “In all my years I’ve never.…” huffed Ingrid as she headed straight for the front door. “Here’s your pizza and calzone and that stuff,” said Bailey as he held up a white paper bag with grease spots.

  Ingrid snatched it without speaking before throwing open the front door and charging outside. She was halfway down the sidewalk when Bailey hollered after her: “The Dr. Pepper is still in the car!”

  “The hell with the Dr. Pepper!”

  Bailey closed the front door and breathed a sigh of relief. His wife said, “I’ll clean and deodorize tomorrow.”

  “How’s she gonna get home?” Bobo asked. “She’s got no wheels.”

  “She’ll probably figure that out and come back,” said Bailey. “Or, if we’re lucky, she’ll take a cab or a bus.”

  It was about 10:30 when Harvey was getting undressed to put on his pajamas. His pajamas were a pair of Los Angeles Lakers basketball shorts and a black t-shirt with a picture of Jimi Hendrix. Bobo was on his cot in the closet, but still had the overhead light on. He had a sad frown.

  “Why the long face, Bobo? Excuse me. Glendon. Why the long face, Glendon?”

  “How’d you find out?”

  “Oh, I just keep my ears open.”

  “I bet my mom told you.”

  “Let’s just leave it as a mystery, huh Glendon? So what’s with the sad face?”

  “I got a detention at school today.”

  “A detention, Glendon? What were we doing?”

  “It was from Mr. Bartholomew, in health class. He was talking about the epidemic of overweight teenagers in America.”

  “And you argued with him.”

  “Yes I did. That’s all I did. But he wrote me the detention for talking back.

  “Talking back, Glendon?” Harvey pretended to shiver and said “Oooooh.”
<
br />   “What?”

  “Glendon, this is serious. Talking back is right up there with chewin’ gum in class.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” He turned out his light.

  8. SPECIAL ALTERNATIVE SCHOOL

  Harvey liked his new residential school right away. He liked it from day one. He didn’t even miss a day of classroom work; the SAS began its fall semester on September 11. Mr. M. dropped him. “I sure hope this works out for you, Harvey. Good luck.”

  “Well, Mr. M., I want to thank you for puttin’ me up. And for puttin’ up with me.”

  “Aw shucks, Harvey it was our pleasure.”

  “Let’s don’t bullshit each other, Mr. M. Let’s just leave it like it is. But I’ve got two cents if you wanna hear it.”

  “Advice?”

  “Yeah, you might put it that way.”

  Bailey Mushrush was in such a grand mood (now that Harvey Porter was no longer living at his house) that he was ready for anything. “Fire away!”

  “You need to get Mrs. M. out of that dirty canning factory. She’s too nice a lady. She doesn’t deserve that. I’d say, cut back on all of that expensive crap you buy. Then you wouldn’t need the 40 bucks she gets every day.”

  “I’ll tell you what, Harvey, I’ll turn one of your favorite expressions right back at you: I’ll take it under advisement.”

  Harvey laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Okay then. Oh—” he said, as he was taking his suitcase out of the car—“One more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Tell BoBo I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “Just.… just tell him okay? He’ll know what I mean.”

  He entered the first floor lobby, put down his suitcase and just looked. God, this is the Texas School Book Depository where that chickenshit Oswald shot President Kennedy. He knew he would have to visit the sixth floor as soon as possible.

  He looked at the long information counter and the office cubicles around the perimeter. There was also a huge lounge with couches and easy chairs and a TV. The lounge must have been 40 feet long, at least. He saw a bald guy with thick glasses, who was also using a huge magnifying class to read transcripts in small print. He introduced himself to the man, whose name turned out to be Weber Weeble. He asked Weber Weeble if he could give him directions to Headmaster D’artagnan’s office.