Barrett Fuller's Secret

by Scott Carter

  Carol’s index finger points in Barrett’s face before he can enjoy the connection. “I saw that. He’s got to be in bed by ten. He’s cranky if he doesn’t get enough sleep.”

  “Got it, no fun.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I’m joking. He’s in good hands, don’t worry.”

  “I don’t mean to be overbearing, it’s just that I can’t remember the last time he didn’t sleep under this roof.”

  Her passion cuts through the mirth, officially blowing his high. Instead, an empty feeling washes over him, like instead of being in on the joke, he is the punch line. It’s time to play along like he means it, so he offers her a nod of agreement.

  “I understand.”

  “What do you have planned for tonight?”

  Barrett looks at Richard. This is an opportunity to give the answer she wants, to score some points with karma, but the look in Richard’s eyes suggest there’s an even greater opportunity here.

  “I was thinking a Big Dog burger and some kung fu movies.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  Richard holds back a smile while Barrett leans into the couch.

  “Why?” Barrett asks.

  “I just told you he doesn’t watch violent movies.”

  “Kung fu’s not about violence, it’s about good vs. evil.”

  “Chopping people is violent, and I don’t want him going around school chopping the evil kids.” Her voice transcends passion now. Somewhere, preachers are jealous of her conviction. “I can’t believe you’re going to show him a kung fu movie after I told you no violence.”

  Barrett points at her and breaks into a smile that only a brother or sister can flash a sibling when they’re tormenting them. “Gotcha.”

  Carol closes her eyes so she can calm down enough not to charge him and club him unconscious. “Hilarious.”

  He kisses her on the cheek. “Breathe. It’s going to be fine, and it’ll be violence- and sugar-free.”

  “Thank you.”

  Barrett looks at Richard and holds up his car keys. “You ready?”

  Richard nods. He’s been ready to leave this apartment since the day his father left. Ready to form new memories, free of the residue of sadness; ready to experience something that will create some space between him and the day he found his father kissing a man on the bathroom floor.

  Outside, Barrett opens the passenger door of a Mercedes, and Richard gets in. This is the only time he’s been in a car this luxurious, and it’s exciting.

  The TV screen on the passenger dashboard is better quality than the one in his apartment, and the seat is so comfortable he imagines sleeping in it.

  Barrett watches him for a moment before pulling onto the road. “You want to ask me something, don’t you?”

  The attention embarrasses Richard.

  “I can tell from your eyes. Just ask.”

  “Why do you have a TV in your car?”

  “TVs, actually. There’s one on each of the back seats.”

  “Then why do you have TVs in your car? Wouldn’t you rather to talk to someone while you’re driving?”

  “It depends who’s with me. But the answer to your question is I didn’t think about it. The dealership asks me if I want it fully loaded, I say sure, and this is how it comes.”

  The answer leaves Richard confused. As someone who hasn’t been in anything other than a taxi for two years, he dreams of driving his own car one day, so the idea of being wealthy enough to afford a luxury car only to leave the details up to a dealer blows his mind.

  Barrett lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag, both of which catch Richard’s attention. Richard pulls his shirt over his mouth.

  “You shouldn’t smoke.”

  Barrett takes another drag, the exhale streaming from his mouth as he speaks. “And you should mind your business, but we all do things we shouldn’t, you follow me?”

  This effectively silences Richard. He’s simply not equipped or experienced enough in the art of repartee to respond, so he just sits in silence and scrunches his nose at the smoke.

  Barrett smiles. He lowers the window a pinch and takes another drag like he just did the kid a favour.

  Inside Barrett’s living room, Richard looks around in amazement. The space is considerably larger than his entire apartment, and the architecture is something he’s never experienced. High ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, wooden pillars, marble countertops. There is so much he wants to say, but all the comes out is, “You have a big house.”

  “Thank you.”

  Barrett fiddles with a laptop now.

  “Has Mom ever been here?”

  “Sure.”

  “When?”

  “She’s been here.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to watch some TV”

  The TV is wall-mounted with cutting-edge screen clarity. Richard takes a step towards the screen.

  “This is the biggest TV I’ve ever seen.”

  “Me too.”

  Barrett begins to scan forty-one new emails and taps a high-back chair that resembles a throne. “Grab a seat. This is my favourite chair, and I’m giving you command tonight. You’ve got two converters and a thousand channels, go nuts.”

  He opens an email from an actress he dated a few times in France, then Richard’s channel flipping grabs his attention.

  “Go easy, you don’t have to watch them all right away.”

  The channels flip faster. A car commercial, a country music video, a basketball game, a cereal commercial, a cartoon, the news, another cartoon.

  “I said easy, you’ve got all night to go through them.”

  But the flipping continues. Acne cream, a talk show, a heavy metal video, reality TV, a monkey petting a dog.

  “Seriously, can you choose a channel? You’re killing my eyes with that flipping.”

  They now blur they flip so fast. Amazement washes over Barrett’s face. “Stop flipping, are you retarded?”

  The channels finally stop and Richard turns to look at Barrett. “No, but my best friend’s sister is.”

  This is sobering news. Barrett wants to put the kid in his place, but he doesn’t want to break his spirit. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Richard breaks into a smile that would make a con-man jealous. “Gotcha.”

  A ripple of relief flows through Barrett, followed by a moment of admiration for the kid. More clever than he seems.

  “A sense of humour, huh? You must have got that from your father.”

  Mention of his father makes Richard cringe, but he is having too much fun with Barrett to let it get in the way. He sets the television converters on the coffee table.

  “I’m not allowed to watch much TV, so I don’t really know what channel to pick. Can I watch a movie?”

  “Sure. I’ve got my own rental store here.”

  Barrett heads to a case full of DVDs. The first one he selects at random is a porno about foot fetishes, so he slides it back and pulls out Full Metal Jacket. He considers it for a moment before deciding against exposing the kid to guns and suicide, but the third one he removes is a how-to film on tantric sex, so he slides it back in its place and pivots toward Richard.

  “Why don’t we rent one from TV? That way you’re not limited to what I have.”

  “Okay.”

  There is no need for an explanation.

  Richard is used to having his mother make the decisions and would have happily complied without questions, but Barrett prides himself on his resources and can’t keep himself from wanting to impress everyone that sets foot in his home. He picks up the biggest converter and sets up the movie selection channel.

  “There you go. Just press ‘okay’ to pick the movie you want. The code is four sevens.”

  Feeling good about himself, he retreats to the kitchen to check on his iPhone and enjoy a cigarette. Then he feels Richard staring at him. A quick glance across the kitchen and bac
k into the living room reveals the kid looking over the couch’s back.

  “Do you have any popcorn?”

  “I don’t. Are you hungry?”

  Richard nods.

  “Okay, I’ll get you something.”

  A deep drag gives him the patience to deal with this. So the kid wants food? It’s not a big thing, he reassures himself. Just throw a snack on a plate. Another drag gets him to the fridge.

  He opens it and after a quick scan raises his eyebrows at what is mostly drink mix, lemons, and limes. Another drag. A five-thousand-dollar, double door, stainless steel fridge, with four levels and six drawers, and there’s almost nothing to eat. He removes a can of pâté, turns to the closest counter cabinet, moves three containers of margarita glass-rimmer to the side and takes out a bag of pistachios. He drops his cigarette in an ashtray, walks over to Richard and sets the food down on the table in front of him.

  “There you go.”

  Richard points to the pâté. “What’s that?”

  “It’s pâté. Lots of protein.”

  “For a snack?”

  “There are people who would kill to have this while they’re watching a movie.”

  “No, thank you.”

  A huff fires through Barrett’s nostrils. “So have some pistachios; they’re like peanuts.”

  “I’m allergic to peanuts.”

  Barrett snatches the pistachios off the table and quickly wipes where the bag was sitting. “What do you say we order pizza?”

  This is a dance Barrett wasn’t prepared for, and he is exhausted. What he wants to do is call up a few of his female companions and go out for a steak and drink bottles of wine until Richard’s visit becomes a hazy memory, but that won’t preserve these surroundings, so he picks up the phone and calls for a pizza.

  Fourteen

  With Richard asleep in a bedroom the size of his classroom, Barrett is stretching out on the couch when there is a buzz from his front gates. He looks on the monitor to see Jill in a long cream coat. The timing is terrible, but this is Jill, so he buzzes her in and hustles to the door to make sure it is open to reduce the noise when she enters.

  “What are you doing here?” he whispers.

  “I have a surprise.”

  “It’s not a good night.”

  “Really?”

  Jill lets her coat slip off her shoulders to reveal a Wonder Woman costume with knee-high boots, gold bracelets, and a crown. This is why Jill is his favourite, and this is why he pays her whatever she wants. She leads him by hand up the stairs, and when they pass the kid’s room Barrett holds a finger to his lips while Jill suppresses a giggle.

  In his bedroom, Jill slips a blindfold over Barrett’s eyes and leans him back onto the bed.

  “Don’t do that; I love looking at you.”

  “You’ll like what comes next more,” she purrs and has started tying his hands with a yellow silk sash when Richard opens the door. He watches them for a moment, fascinated by her outfit, before stepping into the room.

  “Cool costume.”

  Barrett pulls at this blindfold awkwardly, slides off the bed bum first, and lands on the floor with a painful thud. Jill turns to the kid and then looks down at Barrett.

  “You have a son?”

  “No, no. He’s my nephew.”

  “He’s cute.”

  Barrett gets to his feet. “He’s going back to bed. Aren’t you, buddy?”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “I’ll give you one of my sleeping pills.”

  “Barrett …” Jill interjects.

  “Just a halfer.”

  Jill steps toward Richard and her boots click loudly. “What do you do at home when you can’t sleep?”

  “Read.”

  “Yeah, what?”

  “The Mil Bennett books.”

  Barrett looks at the kid and wonders for a minute if this is actually a nightmare.

  “They’re my favourite too,” Jill says, moving toward the bookshelf. “And your uncle has a bunch of them. Come over here and I’ll read one with you.”

  “Okay.”

  Richard sits on the bed, Jill removes a book, and clicks back over to join him.

  Barrett exhales a cloud of smoke and gestures to the door. “I’ll ah, I’ll be downstairs.”

  The click of Jill’s boots wake Barrett in the morning. He shifts his weight on the plush couch and rubs at his eyes.

  “Morning, Mother Goose, how’s the little one?”

  “Sleeping.”

  Barrett sits up and notices she’s wearing her jacket over her costume. “I’m thinking a literary theme next time. Maybe an Alice in Wonderland outfit.”

  “There’s not going to be a next time.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I have a son I don’t see, and hanging out with your nephew last night really fucked with me.”

  “So we’ll make sure the kid’s not here when you come over.”

  “Sorry, baby. But our time is done.”

  She kisses him on the forehead, and her eyes tell him that no amount of pleading or money will change her mind. He listens to the last click of her heels as she leaves the house and arches his neck in disbelief.

  An hour later, Barrett plays cards with Richard and sips at a jumbo cup of coffee. There are twenty-two messages on his iPhone, but he’s too stressed to care about business.

  He sets the phone to video record and tilts the device so that Richard is framed perfectly.

  “Why are we taping this?” Richard asks, looking into the lens.

  “So you don’t cheat.”

  “I don’t cheat.”

  “How do I know that?”

  “Because I don’t.”

  “Well, maybe I do. And this way, you won’t have to worry.” Barrett tosses some poker chips into the middle of the table. “Are you good with computers?”

  “Pretty good.” Richard matches the bet.

  “Do you know how to upload things?”

  Richard nods.

  “Good. Because I want to put some pictures of us online so I can show people at work.”

  “It’s easy to put pictures on your site.”

  Barrett puts his cards down and focuses on the kid. “What site?”

  “The site you want to put pictures on.”

  “I didn’t say anything about a site.”

  “You have to put them somewhere. Don’t you have Facebook?”

  “No, ah, but it’s like Facebook.”

  “Myspace?”

  “It might be called that.”

  He lays down two pairs with a smile until Richard puts down three kings. Swear words bang against Barrett’s gritted teeth, but he holds them back while Richard takes in the pot and collects the cards. Barrett watches as the kid clears his throat and touches a rash on the inside of his forearm like he just lost.

  “What do you look so down for? You just won.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “I’m fine. I just hate my therapist.”

  Barrett gets up and refills his coffee. “Woman or man?”

  “Man.”

  “How old?”

  “I don’t know, old.”

  “My age old?”

  “Older.”

  “Um, hmm. Does he ask you about school?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And your family?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So he’s old and he invades your privacy. Doesn’t sound like there’s much to like. I’m assuming it’s not your choice to see this guy.”

  “Mom makes me.”

  Barrett extinguishes his cigarette in a large black ashtray with a roulette wheel painted in the middle. “Well, this guy may be a stiff, but don’t be angry with your mother. She loves you and she means well.”

  “I still hate him.”

  “You know what I do when I’m angry?”

  “What?”

  “I drive fast.” Barrett pulls a set of keys from his
pocket and lets them dangle so that they jingle together. “Do you want to drive?”

  “I’m too young.”

  “For your license. But not to drive.”

  Barrett leads the way out of the house and down the porch to a fleet of cars in the driveway. He walks past a black Porsche, a gun-metal grey Town Car, and a red Aston Martin before stopping at a white Lamborghini.

  “Cool.”

  “Cooler than cool. This car used to belong to Frank Sinatra.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “He’s a singer from a long time ago, but he’s a legend. Saying you don’t know him is like me saying I don’t know what a video game is.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Barrett pulls out of the mansion and honks at a mini-van crawling in front of him until it pulls over and lets him pass.

  “I’m too short to drive,” Richard says.

  “You’ll sit in my lap. You’ll steer and shift gears and I’ll work the gas and brakes.”

  Richard clears his throat incessantly during the drive, but he’s too nervous to notice. The offer to drive is exciting, but he doesn’t want to screw up.

  Barrett turns the car onto a street behind a series of abandoned factories and stops at the side of the road. “No one comes down here anymore. It’s like our personal road.”

  Richard looks into the distance, and the road appears to go on forever.

  “Let’s do it,” Barrett says, tapping his knee. He pushes the seat back to create the maximum amount of room while Richard walks around to the driver’s side. As soon as Richard touches the steering wheel, his fingers tingle. The leather is unbelievably soft and the sun’s glare on the windshield looks beautiful, like everything should if it could be as illuminated. “Working the gears is simple. I’ll call out a number and you shift to it. The wheel is the real challenge. The faster we go, the more it’ll fight you. Your job is to keep it steady.”

  Richard wipes the sweat from his hands on his pants and grips the steering wheel again. The heat waves coming off the road’s asphalt in the distance make Richard think of a crash. He imagines the Lamborghini flipping, the gas tank leaking, and flames engulfing the car until the paint peels and their body’s burn.

  “Ready?” Barrett asks.

  His voice pulls Richard back to the moment. The kid nods. Barrett starts the car, and Richard turns the wheel toward the road until the vehicle crosses the yellow line before straightening out.