Skates, a Stick, and a Dream

by Bob Leroux

  “Do you know everybody here?” Billy finally asked.

  “Most of them,” Dave answered, and then pointed out the three pairs of tight pants disappearing through the front door of the hotel. “But there’s some faces I can’t place. We got here just in time.”

  “Huh,” Brian grunted, “you can say that again.”

  “They’re probably meeting someone,” Billy pointed out, already beginning to lose his nerve. Brian might get away with it, but there was no way he’d ever pass for twenty years old. “We’re wasting our time, you know. They’ll take one look at me and kick us out.”

  Dave laughed. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Sammy would be out of business if he kept the kids out.” Just inside the door, Dave spotted two friends sitting by the dance floor. “There’s Eddy and Norman. They got us a table.”

  It took a few minutes of exchanging greetings and making introductions before they reached Dave’s friends. The next step was for Billy to pass Sammy’s inspection. The fat man ambled their way, raising Billy’s blood pressure. Sammy was famous for the personal attention he gave his customers. Until he could put a face on your family name, whether father or brother, uncle or cousin, you didn’t get served in his hotel. To a stranger, Sammy would seem innocuous enough. He carried two hundred and fifty pounds on a short frame, and it looked like one shove would start him rolling over and over, never to stop again. Except no one ever shoved Sammy.

  When he reached the table, Dave tried to con him. “G’day, Sammy. How about a round here? I’ll take a Black Label; same for my brother and his friend.” He averted Sammy’s eyes as he turned to Norman and Eddy. “Two more for you guys?”

  Sammy leaned over and picked up the two empty quart bottles. Clenched between the meaty fingers of one hand, they swung at his side like two clubs. He spoke in a gravelly whisper that people said was the result of an altercation over an unpaid bar bill. As the story went, the bill had been paid. “This is your kid brother?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. And his friend, Big Brian Weir.”

  The hotel owner stared at Billy as though he were some unknown species that had attached itself to a chair in his hotel. “He’s under age,” he finally declared.

  Billy didn’t blink. He just stared at the fat man and wondered how quickly he was going to get thrown out.

  Dave gave Sammy his widest grin. “Yeah, well, he’s not quite twenty yet, but he almost is. He just had his eighteenth birthday — so I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Bullshit, Campbell. He’s still in midget hockey. Can’t be more than sixteen, if he’s that. His friend here might be older, but not by much. Anyways, neither one of them is in spittin’ distance of twenty.” Then he started talking to Billy and a smile came into his voice. “Tony Stanton told me all about you. I even seen you play a couple of times, in Alexandria. You’re pretty good. I played a little hockey myself, you know.” He didn’t give Billy a chance to react. “So, can you handle your booze?”

  “Uh, I guess so. Sir.” Billy knew an authority figure when he saw one.

  “Tell you what, then. I’ll let it slide, just for tonight. But don’t come back here till you’re eighteen. Or I’ll throw you out.” Then he pointed toward the washrooms. “You see that hallway there, with the door at the far end?”

  Billy twisted in the chair and looked. “Yes, sir.”

  “Every so often I get some visitors here, people you don’t want to meet. So, if I give you the high sign, you take off out that door, right away. You understand?”

  “You mean a raid? Yes, sir, I’ll go, soon as you tell me.”

  “Had one last week — should be good till the end of the month.” Then Sammy gave him a quick grin. “Just one more thing. Be careful around this brother of yours.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Sammy,” Dave protested.

  “Shaddap, Campbell, I’m not talking to you. Like I told you, kid, if he’s had more than three beers, don’t let him drive. He’s a dangerous man. You, you got a future. You gotta be careful.” With that, he gestured to one of his waiters, and then moved on to the next table and the next interrogation.

  As soon as the waiter took their orders, Dave and his friends started regaling the boys with stories of Sammy’s great strength and courage, none of which they had ever seen. All they had witnessed was Sammy cooling out an unruly customer with quiet threats and gestures. Norman claimed he’d seen a baseball bat behind the bar, but Eddy insisted that Sammy’s chief means of control was to threaten you with banishment from the hotel. To be barred from a Dalhousie hotel was not an idle threat, when a large part of your social life consisted of taking that road to Dalhousie.

  As the conversation warmed up, Billy could see how Dave’s world was shaped. His close friendship with Norman and Eddy was obviously a great source of pleasure to him. Norman Willard was a wiry little guy with a crooked grin and a shyness around people that he had tried to overcome with a permanent growth on his right hand, in the shape of a beer bottle. Eddy Stillman was the mouthpiece of the group — a poor-little-rich boy, his friends said to tease him. With a father who owned the biggest car dealership in Glengarry, he had the money to support the trio’s penchant for souped-up cars. Dave was the official mechanic, and Norman was the one with the gift for driving. They had already built a stock car to race at the local dirt tracks in Saint-Zotique and Glen Robertson.

  Billy and Brian sat there wide eyed, listening to a conversation centred on cars, women, and parking-lot rumbles. It all sounded exciting to Billy, racing down country roads and chasing girls, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for it. He kept staring at the quart of beer in front of him. He didn’t even like the taste. “Jeez, Dave,” he complained, “did you have to order quarts?”

  His brother laughed and poured him some more from his own bottle. “I thought you hockey players could hold your liquor? Besides, it’s cheaper drinking from quarts.” Then he got up and motioned to a girl three tables over to meet him on the dance floor. “Don’t sit there all night, men,” he said before he left. “Probably some of those girls over there would love to dance with a handsome hockey star.”

  The hockey stars weren’t that adventurous; not yet. They sat there alone while Dave and his friends took turns ferrying girls to the floor. This wasn’t what Billy had bargained for; all this noise was unnerving, a buzz that invaded his head and made him dizzy. Quivering shafts of light from the coloured lamps along the walls streamed through the smoke-filled air to create a sense of constant motion, with waiters threading their way past tables and chairs, competing for space with couples headed to and from the dance floor. In the dim light, there wasn’t much else to be seen by way of decoration, at least nothing that could compete with the throng of gyrating youngsters spruced up for a night of big noise, big drinking, and big action.

  The five-piece band was on a raised platform, playing loud, raunchy numbers interspersed with slow, mournful tunes that hastened along budding relationships, some only five minutes old. By the time Billy finished his first quart of beer, the heat and the noise and the smoke had destroyed the last of his good intentions. After his second quart — that cold beer went down so easy in the stifling heat — he was almost ready to try dancing. Brian had beaten him by one quart, and was already up there on the floor, throwing himself into the music. Billy decided he could shake himself around, too, but asking a girl to shake along with him, that would take one more beer — a pint maybe. He was halfway through that pint when he found his thoughts getting a little scrambled. He was having trouble focusing, he decided, as the noise bombarded him from all directions.

  That’s when Dave came huffing and puffing back to the table. He plopped himself in a chair and took a closer look at his brother. “You all right, kid? You look kinda green. Maybe you should go outside for a while. Get some fresh air.”

  “That’s a good . . . idea. I am a little . . . I mean, I feel a little . . . strange.” It was very confusing, the way his lips felt like fuzzy flannel, the way all those vo
ices seemed to buzz around in his head at the same time, from deep in the bottom of a well. “Must be all that smoke,” he murmured. “I’ll just close my eyes for a second and — ”

  “No! Don’t close your eyes,” Dave warned.

  He was too late. Billy realized his mistake immediately. He blinked them open but the room had already started to spin. He stumbled to his feet, shaking his head. Dave started to get up with him, but Billy put a hand on his shoulder. “No, you stay. I’ll just get some fresh air. Be right back.”

  He groped his way to the exit and into the parking lot, looking for something to lean on while his head cleared. He was sure he would be okay in a moment, and then he would go back in there and try that dancing thing. He found the white convertible and decided if he could just lie down for a few minutes, the dizziness would wear off. He climbed into the back seat and stretched out. Like a fool, he closed his eyes again.

  This time the world caved in on top of him. His mouth started to taste funny, and started filling up with saliva. Just as he forced himself to sit up, his stomach heaved, disgorging two quarts of beer on the back seat of the car. His stomach kept heaving until there was nothing left to come up — and then heaved for another five minutes to let him know it had been insulted. About that time, he decided he wanted to die. But Dave had come looking for him.

  “Billy,” he called out as he reached the car, “is that you? What the hell are you doing in there?” Then he saw the mess. “Jeez, man! What the hell?”

  “Sorry, Dave,” Billy moaned as he rocked back and forth with his head between his hands. “I couldn’t help it. I’ll clean it up. I promise.”

  “That’s just great, you moron. But how do you feel about fighting Gerry McConnell and his three brothers?”

  “Why?”

  “Because this is his bloody car, you idiot!”

  “Whaa-at?” Billy looked up, searching for evidence that this was a nightmare, that he really wasn’t awake. Only he could see his brother opening the car door, and he felt him grabbing his arm. “But it’s a convertible, isn’t it?”

  “You think there’s only one convertible in Glengarry?” Dave yelled as he pulled him out. “Besides, this is a Chev. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a Chev. You know that.”

  Billy was totally defeated. “Aw, jeez, Dave. What am I gonna do?”

  “You’re gonna haul your ass over to my car while I go get Brian.” He pushed him toward the car on the other side of the parking lot. “We’re getting out of here, fast. I’m not about to fight crazy McConnell and his whole clan.”

  By the time the Campbell brothers and Brian Weir got back to Munro Mills, Billy was beginning to see why his big brother loved his life in Glengarry so much. All evening he had been laughing and joking with his friends — half the people in the hotel seemed to know him. Maybe it was because he could turn every occasion into a celebration, whether in the parking lot or on a crowded dance floor. When you were with Dave Campbell you had fun, you couldn’t help yourself — even getting sick had turned into a joke.

  The happy wanderers dropped Brian off at home and rolled into their own laneway sometime after midnight. They made a token effort to be quiet as they slipped off their shoes and crept into the house. “I’m hungry,” Dave whispered, as he headed for the fridge. “I wonder if there’s anything to eat? Oops, I found a cold beer. Want one?” He turned and held out a bottle of beer to Billy, who was still trying to shut the kitchen door without banging it.

  “Jeez, no,” he groaned. “I had enough to last a lifetime.”

  “Okay, okay. One beer for Dave and no beer for Billy. Now, what’s this?” He pulled out a serving plate holding something wrapped in tinfoil. “What have we got here?” he whispered gleefully, as he set the plate down on the table and started pulling off the foil. “Oh, ho! I think it be a chicken, Billy boy. A dead chicken, a dead cook-ed chicken.” He had stopped whispering and was talking in a hushed voice, exaggerating each phrase. “How aboot that, Billy boy? We done caught us a chick-chick-chicken.”

  “We’ll catch hell if we eat that. Mom must have cooked it for lunch tomorrow.”

  “Then we’ll just have lunch a little early, Billy boy. Mom won’t mind.” Dave pulled a leg off and handed it to Billy. “Here, kid, eat up. I hate eating alone.” His grin was infectious.

  Billy was suddenly very hungry. “Well, just a leg, then.”

  “Sure, it’s just a leg,” Dave laughed. “And your stomach’s so empty.”

  They sat down at the kitchen table and started picking meat off the chicken while they talked in hushed tones about everything from the girls they’d seen in Dalhousie, to the McConnell brothers and how mad they’d be when they discovered the mess in their car. Before long, Billy was getting himself a beer and forgetting his concern for tomorrow’s lunch.

  “Jeez, this is a skinny old bird. We’re already down to the bones.” Dave was giggling at the chicken’s emerging skeleton. “I told you not to make such a pig of yourself.”

  Billy struggled to focus on the carcass sitting before them. “Holy cow; you ate the whole thing.”

  “You mean holy chicken, don’t you? Besides, you ate more than I did.” Dave pointed to the pile of bones on his brother’s side of the plate.

  “Aw, g’wan with ya,” Billy retorted. “You put ’em there when I went for a beer. I saw ya.” Billy studied the carcass for another moment, and then raised his head to look at his brother. “Jeez, man, that was Mom’s chicken. She’s gonna be mad at us.”

  “Naw . . . she’ll never notice. I’ll fix it all up.” Then the two of them giggled for another five minutes as they stuck the various bones back in their appropriate spaces and wrapped the whole mess with foil.

  “See,” Dave exclaimed, “the best mechanics in Glengarry.” He patted the lump on the plate. “She won’t even notice the engine is missing.” He got up and put the plate back in the fridge. “Have a good sleep, chicky baby. We’ll see you in the morning. Oh, I forgot. It’s already morning. Never mind, then.” He swung the door shut. “Shaddap and go to sleep, chicky; that’s where I’m going. ’Night, Billy boy. You just plain wore me out.”

  Billy waved as he watched his brother struggle up the stairs. “Yeah, ’night, Dave. I had a good time. Thanks.”

  He wasn’t thanking Dave at eight o’clock the next morning, when his father started banging on the bedroom door. “Get yourself dressed and downstairs, laddie. You’re taking your mother to church, right after you do some heavy explaining.”

  When Billy dragged himself into the kitchen, Dave was already at the table nursing a cup of coffee. Angus pulled his chair out from the head of the table and planted himself firmly in front of his two sons. Anna was leaning against the cupboard, watching with her arms folded, the plate with the tin-foiled lump sitting behind her. Billy was hoping Dave had already taken the blame for that, when Angus interrupted his thoughts.

  “All right, gentlemen. What was that ruckus last night, or should I say this morning?”

  Dave tried smiling. “Aw, gee; did we make a lot of noise? I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “Don’t try that smooth talk on me, mister. Save it for the paying customers.”

  Dave was more subdued on the second try. “We just went out for a little ride, is all. Got back late.”

  “A little ride? Do you think I don’t recognize the sound of people who’ve been out drinking? You took him to Dalhousie, didn’t you?”

  Dave looked over at Billy and sighed, “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “You mean you don’t know for sure? Is that the state you were in? Did you drive like that? And what did you do with young Weir, dump him on his front lawn?” Billy couldn’t help but giggle, at least until his father cast him a withering glance.

  Dave straightened up in his chair. “C’mon, Dad. Give me a break, eh? I bought the lads a couple of beers. They have to start sometime. Better they do it with me driving.”

  Angus opened his mouth to castigate, but caught the words in his
throat. He was remembering the day he said exactly the same thing to Anna, after the first time he had let Dave come to the hotel with him. He poured himself some fresh coffee and took a sip, studying his son through the steam that was rising from the cup. He glanced at Anna and saw her smiling, joined now by Dave. “Don’t grin at me, you long string of misery. You were eighteen when I first took you into a hotel.”

  “I can’t help it. You said the same — ”

  “So what? The drinking age is still twenty-one in this province. How old are you?”

  “Well . . .”

  “You never thought of that, did you? Who’s going to bail you out? If you get stopped?”

  Dave tried to grin. “Well, hasn’t happened . . .”

  “Sure, Dave, don’t worry about it until it happens. You just figured when you quit school it would be one great, long party, didn’t you? Well, it’s about time we get a few things straight around here, with the both of you.” He gave them the stern Campbell look, the one that signalled an important conversation. “You’re practically grown men, old enough to make fools of yourselves, and old enough to start accepting some responsibility. If we’re going to be in business together, you’ll have to hold up your end of the deal.”

  “Jeez, Dad,” Dave protested, “I put in a good day’s work.”

  “Do you think that’s all there is to it? We have to plan for the future. You can’t blow all your money in Dalhousie. The garage won’t provide a living for the three of us, especially when you and Billy start having families of your own.”

  Dave grinned. “I dunno; Billy’s having trouble getting started in that department.”

  “You jerk! You think you’re such a playboy.” Billy tried to reach over and punch him in the arm, but Dave ducked.

  “That’s enough,” Anna scolded. “Don’t start that kind of talk in my house.”

  Dave held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, Mom. I was only joking.”

  Angus frowned at him. “That’s the trouble: you turn everything into a joke. This is a time for serious talk. We have to know if you’re prepared to do your share.”