The Right Kind of Stupid

by John Oakes

  "Okay. When? Where?" Cody was genuinely excited at having possibly befriended a real-life David Blaine.

  "Well, first, let me be clear. I'm no David Blaine."

  Well, shit.

  "I mean that guy is a hack, and I can outdo him anytime, anywhere. But, you know, it's tough out there, and I don't have the reach he might have."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Let's just say I don't always get to perform at the choicest venues."

  They finished eating, exchanged numbers, and Winton promised to text Cody later with the details. Winton walked away, but Cody could not help wondering where that dang sugar packet was. He looked under the table and under Winton's plate.

  "Look in your right pants pocket," Winton said loudly, still limping away toward the door.

  Cody shoved his hand into his pocket, rummaged a bit and removed a crumpled pink sugar packet. He held it up, an expression of utter disbelief on his face.

  Winton stopped at the door, looked over his shoulder and waved his hands in front of his face with a flourish.

  "The name's Wonder," he declared.

  "Winton Wonder."

  Chapter Nine

  The Wedding

  Cody's self-imposed bed rest consisted mainly of marathoning DVDs of the show The Wire. Jason had been going on about it forever, praising it so much he was liable to spoil it before Cody had the chance to watch it. So Cody finally caved and borrowed the first two seasons from him. Cody was no stranger to TV watching, but he found it hard to start a new series. It always felt a little guilty, like a betrayal of the TV shows he already loved.

  Nevertheless, Cody was now deep into season three, which he'd actually left the pool house to go and rent. This hadn't been an easy task, not because of his health, but because it was getting harder to find movie rental stores these days. Cody was now nestled beneath his blankets, enjoying the fresh, mild October air that was circulating through the open windows of the pool house. He was contemplating getting a cool face scar like Omar Little, when Jason texted,

  Jason: You want me to pick you up?

  Cody: Pick me up what?

  J: No. Do u want me to pick u up for wedding.

  C: What dafuk u talkin about

  J: The wedding. That guy you went to school w.

  Fuck. The wedding.

  Some guy Cody had gone to Patriot Academy with was getting married today, and Jason had been on about this since the week before Grampa died. There were two kinds of wedding invitations Cody received. One was a lovely piece of paper requesting that he join with a couple in celebration of their union. The other was a polite way of acknowledging his family's social stature in exchange for the possibility of a healthy wedding gift that was not to be viewed as an actual request for his presence.

  And Cody knew the difference.

  But there was no helping explain it. Jason, in his unending quest for personal advancement, wanted to rub shoulders with his betters. He called it "networking." And he could not go unless he was Cody's "plus one."

  After Cody failed to respond for two minutes,

  Jason: I'm picking you up at 5 sharp

  Cody: Doc said avoid stress. Rich asshats stress me out.

  J: Bullshit. You're coming

  C: I don't even know them

  J: You went to school with him for 7 years

  C: I don't like the people I went to school with

  J: You are goddam coming. Wear pants.

  C: Sandals?

  J: If they are tasteful. No flip-flops.

  Cody found some acceptable clothes, but damn if that had not been a chore. For the son of a millionaire CEO, Cody had shockingly little clothing. Or was Leroy a billionaire? Either way, all of his nicer clothes had been bought when he was younger and smaller, back when people could force him to go to church and galas and fundraisers. He was perfectly happy to rotate between the same five shirts most of the time.

  He stood before them, all hanging in a row in his closet. They'd been through a lot together, and all bore some scar of battle. They were like a band of shirt brothers, Cody reflected. But sadly, none of them would pass muster with dandy Jason. In the end, Cody dug out a pair of khakis and a dress shirt he'd bought for the last wedding he'd gone to like five goddam years ago and never worn again. Cody looked in the mirror at himself, but could only focus on the years-old wrinkles in the khakis where they'd been folded.

  Jason would be there to pick him up any minute.

  Anita had the day off and it would take too long to run up to the giant house and find where she kept an iron. Maybe some other worker on the property knew how to iron. Cody scratched the idea, not so much for being a little racist, but because he didn't have time to run around the vast property.

  He implored himself to think.

  He whipped the khakis off and closed the belt on the belt hole closest to the end. He looked around the bedroom and then walked past the kitchen into the living room where he spotted an exposed rafter that would serve. He laid the pants down, walked to the small utility closet by the bathroom that housed the water heater and grabbed a staple gun and a space heater. He laid these down near the pants in the living room. Then he ran to his bedroom closet and grabbed a ten-pound dumbbell, the smallest he had. On his way to the living room, he stepped sideways into the kitchen, grabbed a glass and filled it halfway with warm water. He set these down and plugged in the tall, narrow space heater below his chosen rafter. He knelt on the marble floor, took up the glass and poured a line of water on the pants, just above the knee. He flipped the pants over and did the same thing. He stood and, reaching up as high as he could, held the bottom hem of the pants to the rafter and shot a staple through them. Then he fastened the other leg to the opposite side of the beam in the same way. He grabbed the dumbbell and twisted it into the belt like a stick in a tourniquet, so that it hung by one end. It cinched the waist of the pants and put adequate downward tension in the pant legs.

  Cody grabbed a pair of oven mitts from the kitchen for safety and then grabbed the three-foot tall heater in both hands. He held the glowing heater horizontally and as close as he dared to the fold lines in the pants. He started to smell burning, and backed away from the khakis. But it was just the dust accumulated on the heating element from months of disuse. He continued holding the heater close and patiently let water, heat and tension do their work.

  He was almost done with the second pant leg when Jason called from the door.

  "What in tarnation are you doing?"

  Cody, standing in his boxer briefs, a dress shirt and oven mitts, looked over his shoulder, very careful not to move the space heater.

  "Ironing!"

  The wedding was truly massive.

  Three large, white tents spread over a wide swath of park meadow surrounded on three sides by tall trees. The evening was beautiful. The warm sun was just nearing the treetops, and the still air was not too muggy. The reception was in full swing when the three of them approached. Three of them, because Jason had driven to Ricky's place after leaving the Latour estate. By the time he saw Ricky saunter down the steps outside his trailer in a powder blue blazer and no hat, Cody had worked out why. Jason was not the only one who saw the wedding as a business opportunity. If Cody had to go to this thing, it would definitely be better with Ricky.

  "Dang, there must be 500 people here." Jason said, when the reception came into view. "Bride must have a rich daddy with people to impress."

  People like Jason obviously.

  "No one has that many friends," Cody agreed. "And who gets married on a Friday?"

  "She'll be pregnant," Ricky said wearily.

  "How do you figure?" Jason asked.

  "These people got this kind of money and pull and we're at a city park on a Friday."

  "She only had a couple months before that belly pops out," Jason said, nodding his head in realization. "All the good dates at the nicest places were taken."

  "Yup," Ricky said.

  "Ricky, speaking as
a businessman and future wealthy individual, please promise me you'll never go work for the IRS."

  Ricky let out a small chuckle, as they reached the main tent.

  Outkast's "Hey Ya" blared and lights flashed on the dance floor, where dozens of attendees were boogying with enthusiasm.

  "Let's get a beer," Cody suggested.

  "Get out!" Jason retorted. "Look at this shindig."

  "Dang old open bar, man," Ricky said in his most enthusiastic grumble.

  The wedding was extravagant, even by the standard set by all the highfalutin' weddings Cody had been dragged to. There were fountains everywhere. Wine fountains, Fondue fountains, even a Martini fountain.

  And the moth flew to the light.

  Cody sipped at an ice cold Martini garnished with three Greek olives stuffed with habanero blue cheese and felt a cautious optimism building inside. He turned to explore the main tent some more and found Ricky already engaged in a conversation with two pretty young women and their flamboyantly gay male friend.

  "Hey, well if it isn't Cody Latour!"

  Cody turned to find a handsome man in a tailored, blue suit. He was fine-featured with a bright smile and had shortish blond hair that was formed with expensive products into a stylish coif.

  "Hi, Charlie. You look good."

  "You uh...you too Cody. Long time no see."

  "Yeah. I haven't seen you in some years." Him or anyone else from school when he could avoid it.

  "Well, you never come to any of our get-togethers. You really should have come to the ten year reunion this summer."

  "Sorry, I had a thing."

  "It was quite a freak show. Trevor King brought his husband, if you can believe that. You should have seen Courtney Burdette. She gained like a hundred pounds. And just the opposite, Corie Jackson lost all her baby fat. Josie Holt says Corie has an eating disorder. But she looked pretty good in her fuck-me boots, I tell you what. Who says you have to know how the sausage was made?"

  "So, I take it you're single and ready to mingle?"

  Charlie held up a hand to show his wedding ring. "Let's just say I'm still ready to mingle. With the right suit and the right car, a wedding ring just makes you that much hotter. If Corie Jackson shows up in those boots again, there is a king sized headboard over at the Hyatt Regency she can expect to get slammed up against."

  Charlie swept his jacket back and placed a hand on his hip. He did a quick scan of the crowd. "Indeed. Indeed. Someone is gonna get a mild concussion tonight." Then turning back to Cody, "Hey, so what you doing these days? I actually was just gonna look you up."

  "Oh yeah? I'm not up to a whole lot."

  "Right. Probably being groomed for taking over Latour Mining and Oil someday right?"

  "Definitely not."

  "See, I was going to offer you a limited time investment in this development I'm building."

  "Where abouts?"

  "North Dakota."

  "North Dakota?"

  "Yeah. Things are blowing up there. Oil, natural gas...It's a boom town, I tell you what. See, I'm ass deep in the housing game and I figure the right connection with the oil world might prove lucrative. Why don't you let me take you out golfing this Sunday. We'll have a good time."

  "Listen. Charlie. You're barking up the wrong tree. I'm really not connected to the business."

  "Well, maybe you're looking for a way to diversify your own portfolio."

  "Charlie, I don't have a portfolio. Really." Cody saw the disappointment in Charlie's eyes and decided to try and change the conversation. "So do you have kids? You living in San Antonio?"

  "Got two kids." Charlie said. His eyes were darting here and there off to either side of Cody. "Um, Izzie and Janie. 5 and 6." His eyes continued to search the crowd.

  It was what Cody called the conversation ladder. These society folks were always looking to sally up next to someone more important than whoever they were presently talking to.

  "Yeah, I split my time in San Antonio and Dallas...say, Cody nice talking to you." Charlie had spotted his next rung in the ladder. A pat on the arm and Charlie was gone. Cody rolled his eyes and took a drink.

  Ricky's conversation had also ended, and he stepped toward Cody.

  "What was he selling?"

  "These people are incredible," Cody responded. "It's always about what you can do for them. At least the wedding is beautiful and the booze is free."

  "Ain't quite died and gone to heaven, but—

  Ricky interrupted himself to take a long pull from his drink, something amber brown on ice that tinkled musically, "...I can honestly say I'm enjoying myself."

  They stood for a moment near the edge of the tent, taking in the scene. Dozens of tables draped in vanilla stretched out as far as they could see, off into the two other tents on either side. Just then, a thousand golden stringer lights turned on, running along the eves of the tent, up the main support beams and down the outer posts.

  "Where's Jason?" Cody asked.

  Ricky pointed toward the edge of the dance floor, where Jason was dancing with a sturdily built blond girl in a gold dress with black trim. She was holding her gold heels in one hand and a drink in the other. Jason was dancing with his hands in the air and hips gyrating. Gold dress girl was dancing with her back to him, knees slightly bent and spread. As she swayed back and forth, her dress rose higher and higher up her substantial thighs.

  Networking indeed.

  "Classy one, Jase," Cody said.

  "Is he trying to break a streak or something?" Ricky asked. "He ain't a drink in."

  "This might qualify as a cry for help. Should I go over there?"

  "Sad sight, maybe, but I ain't one to get between a man and his urges."

  "I thought he was dragging' me to this so he could hob knob with rich folk."

  "Looks like he's veering more toward knob." Ricky shook the ice in his glass.

  "And what happened to his newfound devotion to black girls?" Cody asked

  Ricky furled his Fu Man Chu. "Race is a social construct. Sex isn't. One's gonna give 'fore the other."

  "He really trying to nab some rich girl?" Cody wondered aloud. "I thought he wanted to work his way up, be his own man and all that. Where's the challenge if he just marries money?"

  "Commercial enterprise is a vast, moral minefield," Ricky said without a hint of irony. "Speakin' of which."

  Ricky put his empty glass down and walked out of the tent.

  Cody finished his martini and decided to go try and find some of whatever Ricky had just been savoring. He sniffed Ricky's glass.

  Yup, scotch.

  He maneuvered his way cautiously between tables and huddled groups. While trying to thread one of these needles, Cody accidentally bumped into someone, muttered an apology and kept walking. He was focused solely on the beautiful bottles behind the bar.

  "Mr. Latour?" a small voice called out from behind him.

  Chapter Ten

  The Challenge

  Cody almost ignored the distinct call, not wanting to be caught up in some superficial "What have you been up to since high school?" type of nonsense again. And he was so close to the free bar, which he could now see was nothing short of majestic. He stopped himself, though, and turned reluctantly.

  Walking toward him in a strapless, satiny, purple dress was Kelly Carson.

  "Mr. Latour! Hello."

  Time slowed down as she walked easily up to him. The music faded and everything else got blurry around the edges of her. She shone with light. The golden luminescence dominating the space under the tent danced on her skin. But she radiated some other light all her own. He was certain that, if he closed his eyes, he would still see her image burned into his retinas.

  "Well, hey there Miss Carson," Cody said a little short of breath, trying to seem at all like a normal person. "Didn't see you there."

  "Do you know the couple?"

  "School." Cody hoped the answer would suffice. "And you?"

  "I went to Rice with Jenna, the bri
de. We were both pre-law together." Then hesitantly, "Did you go to Rice too?"

  Cody stopped himself from laughing out loud. Rice? As if rich assholes were bad enough, rich Houston assholes would have been unbearable.

  "Grade school with the groom, Tucker. I went to Brown like my Grampa."

  "Wow. Brown. I'm impressed."

  "Don't be. I mean Brown State in Waco. The Big XII school. You know, Jesus and Football and sometimes a little book learnin' here and there."

  "Right, I guess that makes more sense. Well, fancy meeting you here."

  "Indeed," he said.

  Cody felt his heart pounding in his chest. She looked even better here all decked out. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her collar length blond hair framed her face perfectly. Her dress hugged her gentle curves which, Cody noted only out of scholarly rigor, had been hiding a bit in those pant suits. The dress was rather modest, but it was still a challenge not to stare at her top shelf considering she was about a foot shorter than him. It was an issue of geometry more than chivalry.

  "How are you feeling?"

  "Feeling?" Realization flooded back to him. "Oh my nu—...I mean my tackle. Listen, I've been meaning to call or apologize somehow. I just—

  Kelly held up a hand and shook her head. "No, Mr. Latour. It's—

  "Listen, nothing was, er, happening. That was my step-grandmother. She tripped on the stairs and pulled me down. I landed business-first on her knee."

  "Mr. Latour...Please, its—

  "Call me Cody. I ain't a mister type."

  "Cody...it's ok. I was just concerned for your health. So, you're ok?"

  "Well, yeah," he said, caught wrong-footed by her caring tone. "A bit concussed in the giblets is all. No jumping jacks for a couple more weeks."

  "I came to the hospital," she said. "I felt bad. I shouldn't have just left you in the grass. I waited for an hour, but they said you were being sedated. I would have come back, but you were released, and..."