The Dark Hour

by K. J. Young

  “Don’t worry, my dear.” Roy pats her hand. “This is the last you’ll be seeing of it. Are you ready to go, my boy?”

  Mark hadn’t imagined that going to the barber would be the first order of the day, but it doesn’t matter. He’d warned Monica he would be returning home with shorter hair. He thought she might disapprove, but she was unfazed saying, “It’s worth it for the kind of money you’ll be getting. Besides, it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”

  Mark answers Roy’s question by saying, “I’m ready if you are.”

  Roy struggles to his feet and gives his sister a kiss on the cheek. “I might be gone for most of the day, but Lisa will be here for you, my dear.” When he grabs his cane and hobbles away from the table and toward the door, Mark knows enough to follow.

  Rather than heading to the front of the house, Roy leads the way down the hall to a door in the back of the mansion, opening it to reveal a spacious garage with one vehicle parked inside. The most glorious car Mark has ever seen. Gaping, he asks, “Is that an Excalibur?”

  “You know your cars!” Roy says with approval. “Yes, it is an Excalibur. Less than a year old. I’m not up to much these days, so you’ll have to help with the driving.” He rustles in his pants pocket and pulls out some keys.

  Mark knows about Excaliburs, replicas of a 1928 Mercedes-Benz, manufactured in Milwaukee. They are a throwback to the age of elegant motorcars, the kind 1930s movie stars drove to premieres. This one is cream with a tan top and a tan interior. The fender rolls like a wave over the back white-walled tire and continues to sweep forward up and over the front wheel. If ever a car was a piece of artwork, this is it. He takes the keys from Roy and peers into the car window. “Nice. Leather seats?” He turns to look at Roy.

  Roy nods. “Of course. Nothing but the best.”

  Behind the wheel of the car, Mark feels his spirits soar. Zipping out of the back alley with the top down is the ultimate freedom. Roy directs him to go west on Clarke, saying it’s about five miles to his preferred barber shop. Mark relishes the feel of the gas pedal beneath his foot and the smooth way the car responds when he guides it into the next lane. The responsiveness is amazing—it’s like the engine anticipates his every move. He catches sight of other drivers’ stares and revels in their obvious admiration and envy.

  “You like this car?” Roy asks, in a way that says he already knows the answer.

  “I love it.” Mark grins. “I’ve never driven a car like this before.”

  Roy nods. “It puts a hex on you. Once you drive it, you never want to stop.”

  A hex. That’s exactly right. He could drive it all day, for weeks on end. Smiling, he thinks of all the places he could go. If he were to drive on through the night, they’d be in California by morning. Hell, if he continues driving for even forty-five minutes, he’ll be at his apartment. What he wouldn’t give for Monica to see him driving this car. Better yet, he’d love for the neighbors in the apartment building, the ones who barely acknowledge him, to see him behind the wheel of this magnificent machine. He was born to drive an Excalibur. He just didn’t know it until right now.

  The rest of the day goes by in a whirl of change, all of it chipping away at Mark’s usual appearance until he is a man transformed. At the barber shop, Roy instructs the barber to shave his hair short on the sides, leaving the top longer. While the barber works on Mark’s hair, Roy stands alongside the chair and leans on his cane, watching.

  The click of the scissors comes uncomfortably close to Mark’s ears, and the buzzing of the shaver against his neck frays his nerves. He looks in the mirror as his crowning glory falls in pieces to the floor, and he resists the urge to bolt out of the chair. He’s made a commitment. Besides, as Monica said, it’s just hair. It will grow back once this is over.

  When the barber finishes, dusting his neck with a soft brush and taking off the cape with a flourish, Roy exclaims, “Now, you’re looking smart!” The old man shows his teeth in a wide grin. “You wait and see. You’re going to feel so much lighter.”

  Mark looks at his reflection and forces a smile. When they stop at the front register, Roy pulls out a fifty-dollar bill, instructs the barber to add a tin of hair pomade to the bill, and then hands it over to Mark. “Believe me, you’re going to need this.”

  Their next stop is a short drive to an upscale men’s clothing shop called Hamilton’s Men’s Clothier. When Mark pulls the car to the curb, Roy rubs his hands together and says, “This is the fun part. Today, I’m buying you some decent clothing.”

  Inside, Roy takes charge. He pulls Mark away from a rack of sports coats and instructs the salesman that they are there to buy two suits for his grandson. He winks at Mark as he announces this. The salesman, a nattily dressed older man named Jim, has them sit down on cushioned chairs while he brings out armloads of suits for Roy to inspect. Any one of them would be fine with Mark, who isn’t much for dressing formally, but Roy is quite particular. He wants a certain type of fabric, and he’s also fussy about the lining. Once two suits are selected, Mark stands on a small platform, and the tailor, a short woman with frizzy hair, is summoned to measure him. By the time the session ends, two suits have been ordered, one charcoal gray and another a light tan. Roy insists on adding what he calls the accoutrements: matching vests, pocket squares, dress shirts, and ties. After those are chosen, Roy announces that they’ll be buying two pairs of dress shoes as well. Mark has never had his feet measured with such care.

  Mark notices with a shock that the ties cost thirty-eight dollars, and the suits are almost a thousand each. The old guy is clearly loaded.

  When it comes time to settle up, Roy hands the salesclerk a credit card. After the card is run through the imprinter with an impressive click-clunk, Roy signs the top copy with a flourish. Afterward Jim rips off the perforated edge and hands Roy a carbon copy, saying, “I’m so happy to have assisted you today, sir. The alterations will take about a week. We’ll call when they’re ready.”

  “I have a better idea,” Roy says. “My grandson and I are going out to lunch, and then we’re going to be running a few more errands. If you have the tan suit finished by four thirty, there’s an extra two hundred dollars cash in it for you.”

  Jim extends a hand. “Very good, sir. We’ll see you at four thirty, then.” After they shake on it, Mark follows Roy out of the store.

  They never do get around to running errands. Instead, they spend the afternoon at a classy restaurant called Grenadier’s. After a four-course lunch, they retire to the bar and drink cocktails until the place swims in front of Mark’s eyes in a happy haze. Roy’s drink of choice is a brandy manhattan. Mark is usually a beer guy, but in the interest of getting along, he orders the same. The old man asks question after question about Mark’s life, expressing interest in every detail. He is particularly sympathetic to Mark’s complete estrangement from his family, a rift that came about after Mark had won several hundred dollars playing poker with relatives and his stepfather berated him, calling him a con man. “And then he made me return their money!”

  “Return the money? When you won fair and square?” Roy repeats. “And he called you a con man. Unbelievable. They should have been celebrating your cleverness instead of putting you down for it. Frankly, given that kind of treatment, I wouldn’t want to associate with any of them either. You made just the right choice.”

  “Thank you for saying that.”

  “Well, of course.”

  Mark’s family is as divided as they come. His stepfather never liked him, and gradually he’d turned Mark’s brother and mom against him as well. The words his stepdad has for Mark ring in his ears. Loser. Unreliable. Con man. Making it worse is hearing his older brother, Brian, agree. Brian. The preferred Norman brother. Outwardly, Mark shrugs it off, but inside, each word stabs his heart.

  The manhattans have loosened Mark’s tongue, and he blurts out the one thing that bothers him most. “My stepdad likes to say I’m never going to amount to anything.” Speaking th
e words aloud makes him clench his jaw.

  Roy clucks. “What an awful thing to say. And not true, either. I’m quite sure of that.” He takes a sip of his brandy manhattan. “At least you have your brother. That must be a comfort.”

  “Not really. He takes their side. Not only that, but he insists on calling me Spud. He’s been doing it since we were kids. He thinks it’s hilarious.” Mark shakes his head at the thought. As a kid he envied families where the brothers were friends, the older one looking out for his little brother. That wasn’t the case in his house.

  “Spud.” Roy frowns, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t think it’s one bit funny. Family should be building you up, not knocking you down.”

  Mark nods in agreement and adds, “My girlfriend, Monica, doesn’t see much of her family either.” He drums his fingers on the bar. “Well, at least we have each other.”

  Roy asks, “Why doesn’t Monica see much of her family?”

  Because they’re all drunks and assholes? Mark sighs. “A lot of them have drinking problems, which makes it difficult. Her own father and brother have stolen money from her. She finds it best to keep her distance.”

  Roy nods. “I see.”

  “Believe me, she’s tried.”

  Roy taps the rim of his glass and speaks thoughtfully. “As you get older, you realize that some people don’t deserve a place in your life, while some deserve everything. My sister, for instance. She’s always been the most important person to me. She’s getting forgetful these days, and I’d be grateful if you’d indulge her. Poor thing is starting to lose her short-term memory.” His expression is grim. “It’s sad to watch someone you love slip away.”

  “I understand. I’ll make a point to be patient.”

  “That would be appreciated.”

  During the pause that follows, Mark asks, “Why did you buy me the suits? Am I going to be required to wear them to work?”

  “Heavens, no.” Roy smiles, amused. “You can wear whatever you like when you come to work. But tomorrow night Alma and I have something special planned. We’re taking you and Lisa out to dinner at a fancy restaurant to welcome you to the family. I’d like you to wear the tan suit then. Otherwise, you can just hang on to the clothing for special occasions. I firmly believe every man should have at least one well-tailored suit, and now you have two.” He takes off his glasses, holds them up to the light, and then polishes the lenses with a handkerchief.

  “That’s extremely generous of you. Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to wear them.” Mark takes a sip from his drink. “I don’t have many special occasions.”

  “You will.” Roy returns his glasses to his face, then tucks the handkerchief into his pocket. “Funerals, weddings, business meetings. Dress for success—that’s my motto. It’s how young men come to rule the world.”

  How young men come to rule the world. Mark likes the sound of that. Roy, a complete stranger, sees more in him than his own family does. A cause for elation.

  “Besides,” Roy adds, “you remind me of myself when I was a young man.”

  Dear God, does this mean I’m staring at my future? Not if I can help it. Mark gives him a small smile. “I do have one question: When I leave your employ, am I required to give the clothes back?”

  Roy looks amused. “Day one and you’re already planning your escape?”

  “Oh, nothing like that,” Mark assures him. “I just wanted to know what you had in mind.”

  “There are no strings attached. The clothes are yours. Besides, what would I do with them? They wouldn’t be good to anyone else. Once they’ve been tailored, they’ll fit you like a glove.”

  “I appreciate it, but you just met me yesterday. I’m grateful. I just find it hard to understand.”

  Roy shrugs. “Indulge me, Mark. I’m an old man, and at this age, one becomes well aware that the end is drawing near. I never married, and I have no children, but I see potential in you and want to make a difference. Your time as a home health aide will be but a brief chapter in your life, but I’d like to think my influence on you will live on. I see big things for you, Mark Norman, and I’d love to play a role in your success.” Roy takes a last sip of his drink and holds a finger up to the bartender for another one. It’s amazing how much liquor this old man can put away without it seeming to affect him.

  “I understand. Thank you, sir. I’ll try to live up to your confidence in me.” Even under the haze of slight drunkenness, Mark’s heart skips a beat with excitement. He’s never encountered someone this free with their money, much less someone willing to spend it on him with no expectations in return. Finally, the right things are coming his way.

  Near four thirty, Roy declares it’s time to pick up the suit. “Jim is probably nervously watching the door right now,” he says, gingerly lowering himself off the barstool. “Wondering if I’m going to show up with his money.”

  Mark hands Roy his cane, and they head out the door of the restaurant to the parking lot. When they get to the car, Roy goes over to the driver’s side and holds out his hand. “Better give me the keys, Mark. You’re not in any condition to drive.”

  Mark wants to object that he’s just fine, more than capable of driving them back to the shop and then home, but his tongue has gotten larger in his mouth, and the edges of his vision have become wavy. Wordlessly, he hands over the keys.

  Chapter Four

  The next afternoon, Mark runs the pomade through his hair and combs it in place, duplicating what the barber did the day before. He dresses with care, adjusting the knot in his tie so it’s perfectly centered. Monica walks in while he’s buttoning the vest. Amused, she stops to watch. “What do you think?” he asks, turning to give her the full view.

  She tilts her head to one side. “You look like you’re going to a party at Gatsby’s house.”

  “Not too far off. He has money like Gatsby and seems to like spending it.”

  “No kidding. I can’t believe your first day of work was going out to a drinking lunch and buying you expensive suits. And then you walk off with two hundred bucks in cash?” It isn’t envy Mark is hearing in Monica’s voice—it is suspicion. “Something about this is definitely off.” She folds her arms and purses her lips, considering.

  “Like what?” Mark doesn’t share her propensity for doubt. Why shouldn’t good things come his way?

  “It’s just weird, that’s all. They have to have some ulterior motive. Watch, they’ll want you to star in their X-rated movies or be a drug courier or something. You’ll see. There’s always an agenda.”

  Mark shakes his head, amused at the thought of the Walgraves making stag films in their home. If Monica could see how sweet and frail these two are, she’d know her suggestions are ludicrous. “They’re just old and running out of time. Roy said he sees potential in me and wants to make a difference.”

  “Yeah, but he just met you.”

  “I guess he fell under the old Mark Norman spell.”

  “Or maybe you fell under his spell.” She laughs. “You did get the hideous haircut.”

  He surveys his reflection. “I don’t think it’s too bad, actually.” At the very least, having the hair away from his face accentuates his strong jaw. In another era, he would have been a leading man in the movies.

  “That’s just the money talking.”

  “Maybe so.”

  The previous day, when Roy dropped him off at the apartment, the old man parked at the curb and pulled a stack of twenties out of the driver’s-side door pocket. Handing Mark the pile, he asked him to take out the two-hundred-dollar payment for the haircut. Holding out a trembling hand, he said, “It’ll be easier for you to do it.”

  Mark obliged, counting out the money and surreptitiously filching two additional twenties before returning the money. Roy, who was none the wiser, shook hands with Mark before he got out of the car.

  Roy said, “See you tomorrow at five?”
<
br />   “Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”

  Watching Roy drive away, he again marveled at the guy’s ability to navigate the streets, given all he’d had to drink. Mark had had just as many cocktails, and he more than felt the impact.

  The next morning’s headache confirms it.

  By the time he walks into Alden Manor that afternoon, the aspirin has done its job, and he’s feeling much better. He lets himself in and walks through the house until he finds Alma and Roy, dressed up and sitting in the blue room. Side by side on the couch, the two look small and faded, like aged photos. At the sight of Mark, Alma clutches a hand to her pearl necklace and comments on his appearance. “Handsome!”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He smiles down at her.

  “Welcome, my boy. Have a seat.” Roy motions to one of the chairs. “Our reservation is at six, so we have time. We’re just waiting for Lisa to come down. She’s still getting dressed.” Roy tells Mark about the restaurant, a lovely place out in the country called Duke’s Supper Club. “It’s a historic building. Once it was an inn, but now it has a dining room on one side and a bar on the other side. On weekends, they have bands and dancing. We’ve been going there for more than fifty years.”

  “Nice.”

  When Lisa comes through the double doors, Alma claps her gnarled fingers together in approval. Mark turns his head to look and is stunned. Lisa hasn’t just changed clothes—she’s been transformed. She wears a rose-colored dress with a dropped waist, trimmed in gold. In one hand she holds a matching clutch purse. Her hair is down and falls in soft curls around her shoulders. The most striking detail is the slight smile on her face. It occurs to Mark that he’s never seen her without a dour expression.

  Alma says, “Didn’t I tell you this was your color?”

  “Yes, you did.” Lisa smooths the front of the dress.

  “I knew it would be.” Alma turns to Mark. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  “Yes, she is beautiful,” he agrees. And she is gorgeous this evening, but in an old-fashioned sort of way. Personally, he would prefer to see a girl in something a little sexier. A tight pair of jeans and a midriff top. Halter tops are even better. But he has to admit that this dress is an improvement from her previous look.