“I walked in on them,” Rhoda said. “I get these headaches, see, and I’ve got a note to go home whenever I get one. I went in and they were naked on the couch. My mama screamed at me to get out.”
Lenny scoffed. “No offense, but my dad isn’t Mexican. He’s not your mom’s type.”
She shrugged. “So you say.”
There was something about her face. It had a blank, open look. An honest face, you might call it. Or stupid.
“How would you know my dad, anyway? Heck, I wouldn’t know him if he bit me in the ass.”
That was a lie, but he was trying to make a joke of it. Goddamn it, didn’t she know he was giving her an out, a chance to say, you’re right, I don’t know your father from Adam? Rhoda just went on looking at him, but now her chin was going all quavery. One look at that chin and his hope that this was a joke went out the window.
“Go on home, you crybaby.” He gave her a little shove with one arm, not hard, but insistent. His heart was pounding. Could it be? After ten years, could he really be back?
“I thought you’d care,” she sniffed.
“Are you retarded or something? I told you, my dad doesn’t live around here. You didn’t see him at your house. Got it?” Lenny stepped around her and started walking away. He had to remember who he was talking to, Rhoda roach-head Raymond, queen of the lowlifes.
“My mama came out looking for me in the field. She told me he was an old friend. They went to grade school together, she said. Told me his name was Richard Van Sloeten.”
Lenny stopped and looked back at her, taking in her dirt-streaked legs, a crusty scab on her knee, the pitiful look on her face. Why would she say such a thing about her own mother? He got a sinking feeling. The way she looked at him was like she wanted a buddy. Like they shared something. A sickening, sleazy common bond, but a bond all the same. Except that he wasn’t like her and never would be.
“Why are you telling me?”
“He’s around a lot now. Either at my house or at the Torchlight saloon. Thought you might want to know.”
“I don’t. In fact, if I hear that you’re spreading this horseshit around, I’ll pound you good.”
Rhoda wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I don’t like him. I don’t like you neither. You’re just as mean as he is.”
“Get lost!”
Rhoda turned and walked away, her long tangled hair falling down her back. Lenny watched her go. She moved so slowly he wished he could whip at the back of her legs with a stick or a wet towel to get her moving. He’d like to tip her like a cow. He considered chasing her. Instead he yelled “Hey Rhoda!” He meant to flip her off, or raise his bat threateningly over his head. But as she stood looking at him, so patient, so beaten down, he couldn’t do it. She waited, finally tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
Forcing nonchalance, Lenny asked, “Was he drunk? I mean, was this guy drunk?”
Rhoda shrugged her shoulders. “Suppose so.” She looked hopeful for a moment. “Wanna come home with me? Maybe he’ll be there.”
“What’d I just tell you? What are you, crazy?”
She shrugged again. “Just scared,” she said, looking straight at him, with no embarrassment. Lenny was stunned. To admit out loud like that, to a near stranger, that you’re afraid, well, Lenny had never seen that done before. He was a little impressed. Still, she was nothing but white trash. He dropped his eyes and she walked away.
So the bastard was back. So what? It was no concern of his. He’d long since given up on the babyish idea that his dad would show up saying I’ve missed you. That he would have some spectacular reason for not coming sooner. Son, I’m dying. I wanted to spare you seeing me like this. But I couldn’t stay away. Not a moment longer. Or he’d make a gentle reference to the bad scene that had played out that last day. I couldn’t come back until I had something to offer you. Something worthy to make up for what I put you through. He’d hand over the keys to a brand new car. It took me ten years but I finally saved enough to buy you this car. I love you, son.
Okay, so maybe Lenny had stayed in the room a few times when Nell was watching her soap opera. He knew how it sounded. Like bullshit. His dad was still a drunk, screwing white trash. Nothing had changed.
Everything had changed.
Lenny turned his Louisville Slugger around in his hands. It was ten years since his dad had given it to him. Ten years since he’d used it to make his dad leave. He remembered the way it had felt in his hands that night when it landed in his father’s side. He remembered the horrifying thrill it gave him to see his father bent double.
Suddenly Lenny turned and hurled the bat with all his might into the street. It bounced twice and landed on the opposite side, in the gutter. He jammed his hands in his pockets and went to retrieve it. It was still in one piece, nearly good as new. Lenny picked it up and cradled it tenderly, frightened at how close he’d come to destroying the only possession he really cared about.
The only weapon he had.
There were three things Lenny wanted to be: a baseball player, a boat builder, and a hippie. He had the best arm Holland High had seen in years. ERA of 2.59. Was a hell of a slugger too. But by some freakish curse that made sure his life stayed shitty for as long as possible, the college scouts hadn’t come. Now it was almost over. There was one game left, and Lenny needed to keep his head in it if he wanted to finish the year with a record 20 wins. He was still hoping against hope for a scholarship, maybe not to the University of Michigan like he wanted, but maybe to Central or Eastern. Just to play, that was his dream. Then it’d be on to the minors. The Lansing Lugnuts, maybe the Detroit Whitecaps.
It seemed like a long shot, but easier at least than becoming a boat builder. To do that you needed to go to school and learn mathematics or physics or some other icks, or else you had to know the kinds of people who hung out at the marina and hope they could hook you up over at Chris Craft boat company. He didn’t know anyone.
That left the hippie thing. Being a hippie didn’t take much except attitude, which Lenny had plenty of. And although he wasn’t 100 percent sure about what a hippie did, he figured he’d spend the summer growing his hair and acting spacey to see if it took. He had options. Not promising ones, maybe, but there was no reason to panic. There was no reason to care about what Rhoda had said. She might as well have told him about the life stages of a dung beetle. That’s how little it affected him. So why did he feel like a stupid kid standing in the doorway of a small stuffy room, heart pounding, not knowing what the hell to do? How did he explain the sudden urge he had to go out for a beer, when it was his secret vow to never go near alcohol? He knew if he did he’d become his dad. He had the same gene for being a drunk, he just knew it. He could feel it simmering in him, waiting to come to life. Still, he kept thinking about the Torchlight. A cold, frosty beer at the Torchlight sure sounded good.
You might say he’d been waiting ten years for this. Seeing his dad again. How many times had he imagined it? There had always been that plan taking up space in his head, the one so fixed that every other thought he’d had since he was eight had to crowd around it. It started with a great big IF. If Dad comes back I won’t fall for his big-guy routine. I won’t listen to his excuses. I’ll make him pay. The way he saw it was like a good John Wayne movie. Lenny would sidle up beside his dad, just a stranger out of a crowd, and give him a stare. He wouldn’t need to say who he was. His dad would know. Lenny would be brief. What’s your business? (He always heard a high, whistling wind start up here.) His dad would meet his stare. Just passin’ through, he’d say. But Lenny wouldn’t blink, not once. Let’s keep it that way. His plan never took this other stuff into account. The humiliation of his dad being with Rhoda’s mom. The humiliation of people knowing. His baseball career petering out with nothing more than a whimper.
He had to show him. Now that he knew that any minute he might run into his dad — jeez, the guy in the beat-up Buick pulling out of the Amoco might be him —he had to be s
omething. He had to have a story. Whatcha been up to? I’m taking the Amtrak to San Francisco. Expand my horizons. Or, better yet, I’m a starter for the Wolverines. His dad would be darn near awestruck at Lenny’s baseball ability. Except now baseball was nearly over and his dad would miss it all.
He did have one more game left. One more chance for his dad to see him play. He could head over to the Torchlight right after practice. He knew where it was. He could walk it in less than an hour.
Only how would that work? He couldn’t exactly warn his dad to stay away from them, then invite him to a ball game. His dad would have to be the one to suggest it. Lenny would shrug. Suit yourself. Then if his dad showed up in the stands, he’d pitch the best game of his life. His slider, his curve ball, his fast ball.Whoa! Wait until his dad saw his fast ball! If the wind was right Lenny could deliver 90 mph.
He just knew that if his dad had stayed around he would have been scouted. His dad would have made sure. He might even have had a shot at the minor leagues. Hell, he might have graduated top of his class. He might have gotten a fucking Harvard scholarship, if he’d had a dad like everyone else. He wondered if his dad remembered his deaf ear. How did he know Lenny wasn’t going to be drafted? He might be shipped to Vietnam any day now for all his dad knew. Would he really let his only son be blown to smithereens without as much as a goodbye?
He almost wished he was shipping out. At least that would be something definite. It would give him a reason to go to the Torchlight. Instead of a baseball uniform, he’d be in Army green. Just as impressive. Lenny would see his dad and act surprised. What a coincidence seeing you here, considering I’m shipping out tomorrow. A situation like that, his dad would have to wish him well. Go get the gooks, his dad would say. And come back safe.
But Lenny had a bum ear. He wouldn’t be a soldier. He wouldn’t be a boat builder either. He’d missed out on a baseball scholarship. And being a hippy was nothing to brag about. What was left for him? Who was he? If he could just sort it all out, he’d be waltzing into the Torchlight right now. Forget the Torchlight. He’d go straight to Rhoda’s and knock on the door. Catch his dad with his pants down. Again.
The scrap metal yard behind the Louis Padnos factory wasn’t a good place to be at dusk. Great hulking automobile carcasses loomed high against the pale sky, leaning and moaning like living things, threatening to come tumbling down. Broken glass crunched underfoot. Headlights lay strewn about, torn from their sockets, making Lenny feel as if he was being watched. What a joke. He was nobody. Invisible man.
School was done. There was nothing to do but hang out. Hide out was more like it. He’d be remembered as one of the best players Holland High had ever had who never went anywhere. Talk about going down in flames.
He used his bat to pound a dent in an old fender. God, he loved that bat. People thought of Lenny Van Sloeten, they thought of the bat. Hell of a pitcher, and boy, can he knock a line drive too. Not that it mattered anymore. He was finished. Washed up. He’d let Hamilton score nine runs and there went his record. He should never have gone to the team picnic. Coach hands him a chintzy little gold trophy and acts angry when Lenny doesn’t shake his hand. He’s supposed to say thank you when his life’s dream comes to this?
Screw the Dutchmen. Screw his small town coach for not making sure he got scouted. He didn’t need them. And he sure as hell didn’t need to put on a paper cap and prissy gown and get up in front of the whole school just because everyone expected it. What if Rhoda didn’t keep her mouth shut? He’d walk across the stage and people would start whispering. Did you hear? His dad is fucking Rhoda’s mom! His dad is back in town and never even went to visit him.
So he blew off the graduation ceremony. Big deal. His mom cried. He felt bad about that, but she didn’t know he was doing if for her and Nell and Sally. They didn’t need to know Dad was back in town. They might get all emotional. What does it mean? Do you suppose he’s changed? Is he thinking of us? Will we be seeing him?
They wouldn’t see him if Lenny had anything to do with it. He cracked his bat against another fender. He needed to get his head together. But instead of figuring out what to do, all he could think was why do things have to end? Why couldn’t he stay a senior forever, pitching for the Dutchmen? And why couldn’t he have found out about his dad three months ago? He could have been wearing his letter jacket. What’s with the jacket? Dad would ask. I lettered in baseball, three years straight.
Hell, his dad wouldn’t even recognize him. Nobody recognized him, or his talent, or his plans. People only saw him when he was on the mound, and that was over. There was nothing left for him now. He had to get out of town. Except even leaving was ruined now. Lenny could never go if there was a chance his old man would show up and start beating on his mom again. It seemed unlikely, after all this time, but who could be sure? He had to protect his mother and his sisters. That had always been his real job. Now it was show time.
Okay, then. He’d start at the Torchlight, and if he had to, he’d go to Rhoda’s. But there was no use getting all dewy-eyed. It was going to be hard, it would go terribly, and he’d feel like shit after. Get used to it.
He was leaning against a half rotted steel-belt tire chucking rocks through the back window of a demolished Chevy when he heard the unmistakable laugh of Cash DeVries. Cash played third base for Holland Christian. Thought he was hot shit. The truth was he was pretty damn good, and only a junior too, so he had another year to play. Lenny should have known by the empty beer bottles that he wasn’t the only one coming here. Probably the whole baseball team would show up next.
He tossed a rock up over a scrap pile toward their voices. There was a moment of silence as the boys stopped.
“What was that?”
“Sounded like someone threw a rock.”
“Who’s there?”
Lenny threw another. Ping! It bounced off a metal barrel.
“John Thomas? That you?”
Lenny waited, still as a rail. The boys were quiet. How long would they wait? Lenny threw another in the opposite direction. Just then a voice behind him made him jump. The other kid, Martin Beyer, had sneaked around behind him.
“Over here, Cash. It’s Lenny Van Sloeten.”
Cash clamored over a small metal heap. “What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“Same thing you are. Whole lotta nothing.”
“You’re out here by yourself? That’s kinda creepy.”
“I’m a creepy kind of guy.”
Cash and Martin both laughed. “You can say that again,” Cash said.
Why didn’t they like him? They were all ball players. Even blowing that last game didn’t change the fact that Lenny was good. Jealous, that’s what they were.
“This where you do your batting practice?” Cash asked, motioning toward the Slugger.
“What’s the point now? You’re done,” Martin said.
“Turn me over, I’m cooked,” Cash said, and the two of them laughed.
“I’ve got a better record than you’ll ever have,” Lenny said. What a stupid thing to say! He sounded like a baby.
“Sure Lenny. You had a good run,” Cash said, all condescending.
“Lemme see the bat,” Martin said.
Lenny hugged it close. “Not a chance.”
“Didn’t you know Marty? That’s his blankie you’re talking about. You probably sleep with it, huh?”
Lenny felt his face go red.
Martin howled and pointed. “He does!”
“What else you do with it?” Cash said.
“He humps it!” Martin shrieked.
Cash began gyrating his hips. “Uh huh…ooohh.”
“You’re sick,” Lenny said.
“Just a little cough, is all. But thanks for your concern.”
“Sick in the head, is what I meant.”
Cash smiled. “Thanks.”
“And you’re ugly too.”
Cash and Martin looked at each other.
“We’re tak
ing off Lenny,” Cash said. “Have fun here all by yourself.”
They were going to go laugh about him. He won 19 games! He could give them some pointers, like a mentor. So what if he wasn’t all friendly-like? He could be nice if given a chance. He just preferred to wait a little, see how a person was going to turn out.
Lenny smacked his bat against a tire. “Wait a minute. Did I say you could leave?”
Martin piped up. “We don’t need your permission.”
“Yeah,” Cash said. “It’s still a free country, last time I checked.”
“What’s the matter, gotta run home to mommy and daddy before it’s dark?” Lenny said. He ought to let them go. But they show up here at his secret spot. Make fun of him. Rub his face in the fact that Cash would probably be better than Lenny ever was. Then think they can just walk away?
Lenny squared his shoulders. “I’ll take you on right now.”
“I’m going,” Cash said.
“Oh right. I forgot. It’s time for your medication. Poor Cash. You’ll probably faint dead away if you don’t get your teaspoon of cherry flavored cough syrup and chewable baby aspirins.”
Cash puffed his chest out and took a step toward Lenny. “Back off!” he said.
Lenny shoved him. “You back off.”
Cash shoved Lenny back, harder. “I’m warning you, Lenny.”
“What a joke!” And with that, Lenny dropped his bat, swung his fist, and hit Cash in the nose. Cash fell backward and landed on his rear end. He looked up at Lenny as blood trickled into his mouth.
“What’d you do that for?” he asked, breathing hard.
Martin sputtered, “Jeez Lenny, you didn’t have to do that.”
Lenny took a few steps back, startled by the blood. “That’ll teach you to bother me.”
“I’m calling the cops,” Cash said thickly. “You’ll go to jail for this.”
Hello Loved Ones Page 5