by Sideswipe
“Patsy, this is me, Hoke.”
“You caught me as I was going out the door, so make it short. I’ve got to pick up Curly at the studio. He’s doing a commercial for the new California Chili-Size people. You know how much he gets for a thirty-second spot?”
“No, and I don’t give a shit. This is an emergency, Patsy, or I wouldn’t’ve called. Aileen came down with bulimia, and I’m sending her out to you with a trained nurse on the Eastern red-eye, Flight 341.1 want you to meet the plane with a doctor and get her into a hospital right away.”
“What’s she got?”
“Bulimia. It’s a wasting-away disease, and if she isn’t treated by an expert she can die from it.”
“Can’t she be treated there in Florida?”
“No, it’s a California-type disease. They know more about it there than they do here. Jane Fonda had it, and Karen Carpenter died from it. Aileen needs a specialist. Your doctor’ll know who to call in for a consultation. So you’d better bring him along when you meet the plane. I don’t know if you’ll need an ambulance or not. Probably not, but you’d better ask him about that, too.”
“How long’s she had it?”
“I don’t know. I just found out today myself. But she’s a very sick girl. She only weighs about eighty pounds.”
“She weighed ninety-five six months ago!”
“See what I mean? You got a pencil and paper?”
“Just a sec—”
Hoke repeated the flight number and gave her the time of arrival at LAX. “Please call me at Dad’s house when she gets there, and let me know what the doctor says.”
“Are you up at Grandpa’s?”
“I’ll wait for your call at his house. I’m staying at the El Pelicano, here on Singer Island, and I haven’t got a phone.”
“What are you doing up there?”
“I quit the force, and I’m managing the El Pelicano for Frank.”
“What about my alimony? You owe me three checks already.”
“Jesus Christ, Patsy, your husband makes three hundred and twenty-five thousand bucks a year!”
“More than that, counting commercials, but what’s that got to do with our final agreement?”
“Let’s talk about money later, okay? Right now you’ve got to get ahold of a doctor, so he can have Aileen admitted to a hospital when she gets there.”
“When the girls lived with me, they were never sick for a single day.”
Remembering the pediatrician’s bills Patsy had sent him in the ten years the girls had lived with her, Hoke almost said something about it, but he restrained himself.
“In that case,” he said, “you shouldn’t have sent ’em back to me.” He racked the phone before she could reply. Perhaps he had overstated Aileen’s illness, but with Patsy he always had to exaggerate to get her attention. He only hoped now that he had elaborated Aileen’s condition sufficiently so that Patsy would get the girl some help.
The wait for the two A.M. departure seemed interminable. Aileen stared at Hoke with loathing and tightened lips, but gradually her mood changed for the better. Hoke got the key from Dolly Turner and took off the handcuffs when Dolly said they had to go to the bathroom.
“Okay, Dolly, but don’t let her throw up in there.”
When they returned, Hoke didn’t cuff them again. He returned the handcuffs to his hip pocket. When the flight was called, Hoke walked them to the gate. Aileen seemed resigned to the trip to L.A. She gave him a weak smile and took his hand.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, honey. And just as soon as you’re well again, I want you back. I hope you know that.”
Aileen nodded. “I’ll be back soon, Daddy.” He hugged her, and kissed her on the cheek.
“If you happen to see Mr. Farnsworth tomorrow,” Dolly said, “ask him to tell ’em over at the hotel that I’ve done quit and went out to Hollywood.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Hoke drove back to the island, feeling embarrassed and guilty at the same time. It was embarrassing to have a stranger—a tenant—tell you that your daughter had a psychological disease like bulimia, and he felt guilty for not picking up on the signs himself. He had been so wrapped up in his own concerns, he had neglected both of the girls; and for that matter, he had been pretty abrupt with Ellita when he had talked to her on the phone.
Hoke parked in his slot at the El Pelicano and checked his mailbox in the lobby, the first time he had looked into it since Thursday. There was an advertising flyer from Es-Steem-Cleaners, offering a $21-per-room rug shampoo, and there was a Mail-Gram from Ellita in the box.
On Mail-Grams, Hoke knew, they telephoned the message and sent the letter the next day. But he didn’t have a phone, so the Mail-Gram could have been in his box since Friday or Saturday morning. The message was short: HOKE, CALL ME AT YOUR EARLIEST CONVENIENCE. ELLITA.
Hoke left the lobby and crossed the lot to the pay phone beside the brightly lighted 7/Eleven store. The Singer Island store was open twenty-four hours a day now, which made the 7/Eleven sign meaningless. It took Hoke three tries on the pay phone to get Ellita. To use his Sprint card he had to dial thirty-six numbers altogether: the 1-800, the 305 area code, and his Green Lakes number. Then he had to dial his Green Lakes number again, and finish with his authorization code number. Even when he took his time dialing, it was hard to keep all of the numbers straight in his head in the dim light of the booth.
Ellita answered on the fifth ring. “Allo?”
“It’s me, Ellita. I know it’s late, or early, but I just picked up your Mail-Gram.”
“What time is it? I was asleep.”
“A little after three.”
“And they just delivered the Mail-Gram? I called it in Friday.”
“It’s my fault, Ellita. I just now got around to checking my mailbox. You could’ve called me at Frank’s house. We spent almost all afternoon over there.”
“I didn’t want to bother him. When I called before to ask after you, he was a little cross, I thought. But a problem’s come up, Hoke, and I wanted to talk to you about it. You remember when Dr. Gomez told me I should have the amniocentesis, and you told me not to do it?”
“You’re damn right I did. You don’t need a needle stuck into your belly, and he’s only trying to gouge you for more money.”
“Insurance pays eighty percent, Hoke—”
“I know, but the other twenty percent comes out of your pocketbook. Besides, it’s the principle of the thing. We discussed this—”
“But here’s the problem, Hoke. He wants me to sign a paper absolving him of responsibility for any birth defects in the baby—just because I turned down the amniocentesis. My mother says I should have it, and not sign the paper.”
“Look, Ellita, it’s the same as I told you the first time. You’re a healthy woman, and you don’t need to know whether you’re going to have a boy or a girl—”
“It’s a boy, Hoke. He kicks like a boy.”
“All right, then. And if they discovered any birth defects, you’d have him anyway, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course. He’s my baby. I know I’m going to love him no matter what.”
“Then sign Gomez’s paper and let him off the hook. Your mother’s old-fashioned and still thinks that doctors know everything. She’s into authority figures, that’s all. But don’t let me influence you either way, Ellita. If you want to do it, go ahead. I’m just telling you what I think.”
“I don’t think I need it, either, Hoke, but I wanted to talk to someone about it first. I’ll just go ahead and sign his paper.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t phone you earlier, but like I said, I just now got your Mail-Gram.”
Hoke was going to tell her about Aileen’s affliction, and sudden flight to California, but he decided that this was not the best time. It would be better to wait on that, until after he had heard from Patsy.
“I’m a little curious, Hoke. How come you checked your mailbox at th
ree in the morning?”
“Oh? I thought I heard a disturbance downstairs, so I checked it out. But it was just a couple of cats fighting. While I was downstairs, I checked the box, that’s all. How’s Sue Ellen?”
Ellita laughed, but quickly suppressed it. “Sue Ellen? I don’t know about Sue Ellen, whether she’s all right or not.”
“What do you mean? She isn’t sick, is she?”
“No, she’s fine, but she did something awful to her hair. She had it cut short on the sides, and then had it dyed green—right down the middle.”
“That doesn’t sound like something she’d do willingly. Do you suppose that—?”
“She dyed it for the concert, she said. The whole gang at the car wash is going to the Dead Kennedys concert at the Hollywood Sportatorium. And Sue Ellen wanted the new punk look, she said.”
“That’s okay, then.” Hoke sighed with relief. “I thought she might be sick or something. I see a lot of young girls with dyed hair here on the beach.”
“Green?”
“Sure. Green, blue, different colors. It’s just a fad; next month, or next year, they’ll dream up something else.”
“You don’t mind, then?”
“No, why should I mind? After all, Sue Ellen’s the only girl working with those blacks and Cubans at the car wash, so she’s got to prove she’s just as tough as they are. So give her my love, and tell her to have a good time at the concert.”
“I will. She was a little worried about what you’d think. She also paid thirty-five dollars for her ticket.”
“That much? Well, why not? As the song says, she works hard for her money. Tell her to take a Saturday off sometime and come up here for the weekend. If she takes the bus, I can drive over and pick her up at the Riviera Beach station.”
“Not this weekend. She’s going to the concert.”
“I know, but maybe next weekend. And tell her that Grandpa sends his love, too. Are you okay now, Ellita?”
“Sure, I’m okay. I’m feeling pretty good. I just wasn’t going to sign Dr. Gomez’s chit without talking it over with you first.”
“Good. Go back to sleep, and I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
Hoke bought a four-pack of wine coolers in the 7/Eleven and drank all four bottles before he fell into a fitful sleep. His alarm woke him at six-thirty. He showered and shaved, put on a clean jumpsuit, and drove to his father’s house to wait for a call from Patsy. He missed Aileen already, and he was glad that he had told the girl he wanted her to come back. Maybe Sue Ellen actually would come up for a weekend. Frank, he knew, would like to see her, green hair and all, and while she was here she could ride Aileen’s bike.
12
After Stanley and Troy left the house, Troy drove in silence until he was stopped by a red light. He turned and winked at the old man. “I think it’s hot enough for a beer.”
“I can always stand a beer. Sometimes two,” Stanley agreed.
“I’ve been thinking about this little car of yours, Pop. We’ll need a much bigger car for the rest of us. Besides, the clutch slips on James’s little Morris.”
Troy parked in front of a beer-and-wine bar on Second Avenue, and they went inside. Except for a middle-aged bartender and a few buzzing insects beating against the red neon Budweiser sign in the window, the dark bar was deserted. There were three booths and a half-dozen stools—most of the seats crisscrossed with gray duct tape—at the aluminum-topped bar. Troy ordered two long-necked bottles of Bud and told the bartender to bring them over to the booth with cold steins. Pop paid, and Troy filled the frosted mugs.
“Beer from a long-necked bottle tastes better than it does from a short-necked bottle,” Troy said. “But I suppose you know that?”
Stanley nodded. Troy took a swallow, and so did Stanley.
“This is just right,” Troy said. “Tell me something, Pop, what do you think of Dale Forrest?”
“I just met her, Troy, so I haven’t thought much of anything about her. She seems like a nice enough girl, but what happened to her face? Was she in an automobile accident?”
Troy laughed. “No, not in an ‘automobile accident.’ It’s a funny thing, but people call cars ‘cars’ until they refer to accidents, and then all of a sudden it becomes an automobile accident. Let me tell you something, Pop”—Troy snapped his fingers—“I’m going to help that girl. And if you feel any compassion at all for Dale, I want you to help me help her.”
“Sure, Troy. I’ll do what I can, but I don’t—”
“You can do a lot, Pop, a helluva lot. Just to look at her now, you’d never guess that she was once Miss Bottlecapping Industry of Daytona Beach, would you?”
“She’s got a nice shape.” Stanley wet his thumb. “I can say that much.”
“You noticed that, did you?” Troy grinned.
“I ain’t making fun, son. It’s just that it’s easier to look at her figure than her face. That’s all I meant.”
“Maybe, Pop, I see something in Dale you don’t see. I see the shining inner beauty of the woman. To me, what’s inside is much more beautiful than a battered exterior. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
Stanley nodded. “Sure. Beauty’s only skin deep. I won’t argue none about that.”
“Yes”—Troy nodded and took another sip of beer—“but it’s much more than that, Pop, in a spiritual sense. I’m gonna fill you in some on Dale’s background, and then you can appreciate what a beautiful woman she really is—not only in her body but in her soul. A man must help himself in this world, but sometimes he needs a bit of understanding from other people. I think Dale’s taken a step forward into a better and richer life by listening to me, but now that this responsibility has been thrust upon me, I feel it right here, deep inside.” Troy tapped his chest, took another sip of beer, and sighed. “Not only am I responsible for Dale Forrest, but I’ve got a duty to James Frietas-Smith, and an even greater debt to you.”
“You don’t have to worry none about me, son. I been looking after myself for a good many years now, and I can keep on for a few more.”
“Exactly!” Troy thumped the table with his fist. “That’s what I mean! Why should you? Why should any man your age have to look after himself? Because nobody loves you, that’s why. Well, all that’s changed now, Pop. You aren’t alone in the world any longer. One man, at least, cares what happens to you, and that man is me! Why, you’ve got more get-up-and-go than any of these Miami yuppies. And certainly more than those slugs up in Ocean Pines Terraces. How many up there—think for a minute—would pack up and come down here to Miami to help me out the way you did? Just to help a friend in need?”
“Not many, I guess,” Stanley said uneasily. “But I—”
“No excuses, Pop, please. I needed you and you came. It’s that simple. Let’s forget about it, and I won’t embarrass you by trying to thank you. Instead”—Troy reached across the table and took Stanley’s right hand in both of his—“I’ll try to be the son you always wanted to have but never had …”
Stanley’s eyes blurred a little. To cover his emotion, he drank the rest of his beer. He opened his mouth to say something, but Troy shook his head.
“Let me tell you about Dale Forrest, Pop. Right now, that girl and that young Bajan painter need our help, and we’ve got to do something to help them. Tell me the truth, Pop, what do you think of James’s painting?”
“Well, I ain’t any art expert, Troy, but I’d say that the boy needs some lessons from an art teacher of some kind. He seems willing enough to learn, all right. I was showing him how to stripe, and he was catching on a little bit when you drove up with Miss Forrest.”
“I’ve really got to hand it to you, Pop. You grasped James’s problem immediately, and you stuck the needle into the nerve. James needs art instruction desperately, even though he’s bulging with native Bajan talent. You and I can see to it that he gets to the Art Students League up in New York. And then, someday, we’ll be sitting back, after James becomes a famous pa
inter, and we can say, ‘We helped that boy when he needed it most, and we’re proud we did!’ Isn’t that right?”
“Just a minute, Troy.” Stanley leaned forward and frowned. “I’d like to help that Bajan just as much as you, but I’m on a fixed income—”
“Christ, you didn’t think I wanted money, did you? I’m the one who’s putting out the money for James’s studies in New York. It’ll all come from my end. What I want from you is a steadying influence. I want you to give James and Dale the benefit of your wisdom and experience, that’s all. You must’ve misunderstood me. I don’t imagine you brought more than a few hundred dollars down here with you anyway. Right?”
“Well, I didn’t know exactly how long I’d be staying. I brought along five hundred in traveler’s checks. Of course, I’ve got my checkbook with me, and Visa card.”
“That’ll be enough. Your needs are simple, and while you’re staying with me you’re my guest, of course. The last thing I want you to worry about is money. But you have to let me tell you about Dale.
“A few months ago, believe it or not, she was on her way to stardom on the Gold Coast here. She was already the featured stripper at the Kitty Kat Theater, and she sang a solo, ‘Deep Purple,’ before her act. They have these live acts between showings of Triple-X movies at the Kitty Kat, see? Eight girls altogether, and Dale was one of the featured stars, with a life-sized cutout on a poster board in the lobby. She already had a slogan her manager wrote for her, ‘You can’t see Dale Forrest for the trees!’” Troy shook his head. “She was on her way up, no question about it.
“Her manager had a new gig lined up for her in East Saint Louis. The next step would’ve been burlesque on State Street, in Chicago. Then, inevitably, New York, and into television. Eventually, and I’m sure of it, she could have been one of those pretty girls on daytime TV, on one of the talk shows, leading guests on and off the stage. And then, blooie!” Troy slapped the table so hard the bartender jumped.
“Yes, sir!” the bartender said. “Two long-necked Buds, coming up!”