by Kate Merrill
“This is your lucky day, son. I come here for a loan.”
The hands on the wall clock moved slow and jerky as Floyd explained how him and Darryl needed a tractor trailer to move the rough cut. They had already picked one out---make, model, and preferred color. He told the kid how they intended to build the crib themselves, made custom to haul logs from the forest.
“Fill this out, please…” The clerk shoved an application form across the desk.
“I already done one.” Floyd opened his case, with the same papers already filled in. “They give me this application at the truck lot last week.”
The boy’s fat cheeks above his tightly knotted tie put Floyd in mind of a trussed up sow. Little beads of sweat broke out on the fatty’s forehead and his pudgy hands trembled as he fingered Floyd’s papers.
“I don’t understand,” the clerk said. “Peterbuiltoffers its own financing. Why didn’t you and your nephew simply apply at the dealership?”
A tick of anger flared at the base of Floyd’s skull. “Me and Darryl prefer to do business with an actual bank.”
The kid cleared his throat. “I appreciate that, sir, but according to this application, Clontz Lumber makes a great deal of money. Are you sure you need a loan? Where’s your profit/loss statement?”
“I’m way ahead of you, brother.” Floyd lifted the bogus tax return and cash flow statement from his briefcase, then propped his boots up on an empty chair and stretched out his legs. After the knife fight, his short stint in jail had yielded a college education in bunko techniques. His crib mate had taught him every angle, including how to pick up extra copies of the IRS forms at the local library. Then Floyd simply filled in a high income and made Xerox copies. Worked every time.
“Impressive numbers, Mr. Clontz. Is this your social security number?”
Floyd nodded as the kid passed him a release form.
“Mind if we run a credit check now?”
“You can run it up, down, and sideways, boy. But make it quick. I’m a busy man.”
The kid waddled into an inner office and handed the papers to a tall man, most likely his boss. The boss wore a suit worth a year’s groceries. He walked to the glass wall and frowned at Floyd through insolent black eyes set in a tanned face. Floyd hated him instantly. He cocked his little finger at the bastard and wiggled it in a lazy greeting.
The fatty finally returned and raised his eyebrows. “You saidyour name was Floyd. According to the credit report, this social security number belongs to a man named Edward Clontz. Why is that?”
Floyd sighed and swung his feet down to the floor. He rolled his elbows onto the desk and glared at the kid. “I go by my middle name, asshole.”
Again, it worked every time. Floyd’s brother, Eddie, was a successful insurance salesman in Wheeling. Eddie had perfect credit, and Floyd knew his social security number by heart.
“Yes, but the report says you live in West Virginia. On your application, you claim you live in Mooresville…?”
“Give me a break, pal. I usedto live in Wheeling, but now I live here.” Floyd yanked out more phony documents and waved them under the pig’s nose. “These here are letters of recommendation. Three different lumber mill owners say I’m a hard worker. I’m out on the road every day, busting my balls to earn good money.”
“Okay, I’ll show these to my manager…” The kid shuffled back towards the inner sanctum.
Floyd watched the kid sit at the boss’s big desk. On the desk was a framed picture of the hotshot’s perfect family---pretty little blond wife and a dark-haired son who looked to be about eight years old. No doubt that boy was spoiled rotten. Bored, Floyd stuffed a wad of gum in his mouth, then tossed the balled wrapper at the colored girl, who had ventured into his space to drink from the water fountain. “How’s tricks, baby?” He leered as she stomped away in her ugly, sensible shoes.
Floyd had stolen blank letterhead stationery from all the mills on his route. Then he forced Leona to type in the testimonials, so him and Darryl came off looking like the best carriers on the road.
“Sorry, Mr. Clontz…” When the kid returned, he was sweating like a hog at slaughter. “Mr. Sorvino is not convinced. He says these letters look like they were all typed on the same old-fashioned typewriter.”
Floyd spat his gum into the waste can and pulled his army knife from his pocket. He flicked out the blade and started cleaning the dirt out from under his fingernails. Next he spun around in his chair, so the colored girl could see the knife, too.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Sorvino says we can’t give you the loan.” The pig’s voice was a high squeal, his eyes riveted on the sharp blade.
“Tell your retard boss to haul his ass out here!” Floyd stopped spinning and climbed to his feet.
But Sorvino had already slipped into the room. “What’s the problem, Clontz?” The man towered above Floyd. He opened his hand, palm up. “Give me the knife.”
Floyd considered his options as the fat clerk ran off to huddle with the colored girl. Floyd had one last ace in the hole. He had stolen the deed to Leona’s property in the mountains, and he was willing to sell the farm out from under her as collateral. He could lie, claim Leona was his wife, not Darryl’s, if it came right down to it.
Or, he could slice off Sorvino’s fingers right there and then, but the boss man’s eyes were cold and hard. In spite of his expensive suit, Floyd saw that Sorvino was a street fighter. He’d met punks like him before---in dark alleys and in the Joint---not a dude you’d want to lie to. Floyd’s gut contracted like the tail under a whipped dog as he folded his knife and dropped it in his pocket
From the corner of his eye, Floyd saw the colored girl reach under her desk. “Should I call Security, Mr. Sorvino?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Sorvino smiled. “Mr. Clontz is leaving.”
In the temple Jesus found the money- changers at their business. And making a whip of cords, He drove them all out of the Temple. And He poured out the coins of the money-changers and overturned their tables.
Floyd’s face burned with shame and hatred. The belly of the parking lot was hot as the fires of Hades. He cranked down the van windows and breathed the foul stench of exhaust and urine. Sinking low low into the cracked upholstery, he drank from the flask. The searing liquid sent a shiver of righteous purpose down his spine. Prison had taught him patience, and he had all day to wait. Lord knew, he’d already paid fifteen bucks for the privilege. That bastard, Sorvino, would emerge eventually, and Floyd had a clear view of the only elevator leading to the Bank of America hallway.
Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.
Floyd removed his Beretta Minx from its case. He inserted a magazine, and then tucked it out of view under his jacket lying on the seat. When Sorvino came out, he’d be on his tail. An accident at highway speeds was risky and inaccurate, so Floyd decided to bide his time and follow the bastard home.
ELEVEN
A noble proposal…
&nbs
p;
Diana balanced a tray of coffee cups, while Mama maneuvered her walker to a table near the rose garden. They had left the residents of Shady Oaks behind in their air-conditioned dining room and gone looking for fresh air.
“If we had one lick of sense, we’d be drinking iced tea like the others,” Mama grumbled.
“Yes, but it’s hard to leave the old Yankee habits behind. We can’t function without our caffeine fix.”
“Speak for yourself, Diana. First of all, I’m not a Yankee. Second, I now prefer iced tea. I’m only drinking this coffee to keep you company.”
Diana chuckled as they settled at a table. It was the story of her life. Her mother, Vivian Whitaker, was stubborn as the tick in a dog’s armpit---Mama’s metaphor, not Diana’s. When Diana said yes, Mama said no. Yet somehow, since Mama had moved back home to her native North Carolina, the tension between them had eased considerably. Now they truly enjoyed their Friday night dinners together.
Ordinarily Mama resisted change and had trouble accepting happiness. During her long marriage to Diana’s father, Will Whitaker, a handsome Northerner who carried Viv away to the land of ice and snow, Mama came close to that elusive emotion. When Will died a few years ago, Mama’s world crumbled. She began a rapid, downhill slide that climaxed when she accidentally burned down the family home.
“Spring was way too short this year,” Mama complained. “These dogwoods lost their blossoms in the blink of an eye, don’t you know?”
“Yes, but winter is short, too, and we can’t complain about that.”
Mama snorted a grunt of automatic dissent, but Diana knew she was secretly ecstatic about her new living arrangements. When Diana had been in personal turmoil over her decision to move south, Shady Oaks had presented itself like the answer to a prayer. The assisted living facility was brand new, so she had reserved one of the first rooms for Mama. It was an added bonus that even the food at Shady Oaks was down home spectacular.
“Must you carry that cell phone everywhere?” Mama pouted. “It’s not like you’re a brain surgeon, Diana. Everyone stared when your phone rang and you jumped up and left the table.”
“Sorry, Mama, I should have waited to return that call.”
“This Brenda Sorvino may be a good client, but she has no right to disturb your dinner. You said the woman is an interior designer, so how come she needs you to help pick out furniture?”
Diana sighed. This mess was all her fault. Her second big mistake was telling Mama about Brenda’s plans for an elaborate Open House, featuring Diana as hostess. Her first big mistake was agreeing to help select furniture to “stage” the Open House, because now she’d have to cancel her fishing trip with Matthew and Juan. Diana already felt guilty because she never told Matthew about her so-called date with Miles Lawton, and now she had to break a date with Matthew.
They sat in silence as the sun began its slow descent behind a border of spruce trees. Mama refused to understand that when Diana became become a Realtor, she gave up her right to personal privacy. She was always at her clients’ beck and call, and Brenda Sorvino was more demanding than most.
“Won’t that little Mexican boy be terribly disappointed if you don’t go fishing with them?” Mama demanded.
Part of Diana’s first mistake was confiding the details of Juan’s sad story. Mama’s heart wept for the boy, just as it recoiled at the image of a privileged, spoiled Johnny Sorvino.
As the coffee grew cold and the sun fully set, Diana listened to the tinkle of Mama’s spoon in her cup. It began as a slow, thoughtful stirring, then escalated like a demented clapper in a porcelain bell.
“I have an idea…” Mama suddenly exclaimed. “Use your blasted phone to call Matthew right now!”
Diana braced herself. “Why?”
“You said Juan’s a lonely little guy, and Johnny’s a solitary rich kid, right?” Mama’s face was pink with excitement. “They are the same age, and they’re both looking for fun…”
“Are you suggesting that Johnny should go along on the fishing trip?” Diana was beginning to get Mama’s drift.
“Why not? It’s perfect, Diana. You and Brenda will be free of the boy, and each kid will get an adventure and a new friend.”
“What will Matthew get?”
Viv laughed and winked. “If he’s half the man you say, Matthew gets over it.”
TWELVE
A drowning man’s raft…
Matthew sat side by side on the back stoop with Juan McCord. His large hands and Juan’s little brown ones were digging through the bait box, sorting the worms and night crawlers, and then transferring them to the cooler. The boy talked a mile a minute, but Matthew’s mind was elsewhere, his ears tuned for the first sound of tires on gravel.
Not much traffic on Matthew’s peninsula. He and Lynn had bought their point lot back when Duke Power built the dam and filled up the lake, before the cost of waterfront went sky-high, before the summer people and wealthy folk from Charlotte began eating up the shoreline like blood crazed sharks, so that Matthew remained one of the last holdouts. In spite of powerful pressure from developers, he refused to sell. He clung to his scrub forest and to the rustic cottage he and Lynn built together. Every front foot of his prime shoreline was like a drowning man’s raft.
Before Lynn died, five years ago, her Bridge playing cronies came around once a month. And before Ginny took off, soon after her mother passed, his daughter’s teenage pals swam from the dock, exercised the water skis, and filled the house with laughter. Since then, the place had been mighty quiet, and Matthew liked it that way. Except for the occasional lost tourist who turned around at his dead end street, no one invaded his privacy. Again, he desired no visitors---except maybe one.
Ursie heard her first. The dog’s ears pricked and she took off running up the road at the same time Matthew spotted the cloud of dust lifting behind Diana’s car.
“Here they come!” Juan piped up nervously.
As Matthew climbed stiffly to his feet, Juan grabbed his hand and hid behind his legs. The boy made it plain he resented a strange kid butting in. He disliked the change in plans, and so did Matthew.
They watched in silence as Diana, sensibly clad in a tan pantsuit and sandals, helped a blond woman in a fancy dress and high heels extract a reluctant little passenger from the back seat.
Finally the kid climbed out, shook off both women, and scuffed his expensive Nikes through the dirt as he approached. “I’m Johnny,” he muttered.
“Me too.” Juan eyed the new kid.
Further introductions took a back seat as the adults watched the strange tableau play out. The boys stared at one another, each a mirror to the other’s reality. The two Johnnys were virtually identical---same age, height, complexion, and hair. Twin sets of round blue eyes locked together in a ballet of disbelief as each child confronted his own image head-on. Their clothes were similar, although Johnny Sorvino wore designer sneaks and an official Atlanta Braves tee shirt, while Juan’s battered Keds, ripped shorts, and knock-off Lakers tee were strictly Wal
-Mart.
As he watched the pair, Matthew recalled a story from his childhood: Dickens’ The Prince and the Pauper. Now the boys from the old book had come to life in his own backyard.
Finally, Ursie broke the magic spell. Having been distracted by a squirrel, she now galloped towards the visitors, fangs bared and ferocious in her unique smile of greeting. Johnny screamed, ran for his mother, and then clung like a baby behind her skirt.
Juan hooted with derisive laughter.“She won’t hurt you!” To emphasize his supremacy, Juan flung himself to the ground and tussled with the beast.
“Don’t worry, Brenda.” Diana giggled. “The dog’s a pussycat. Johnny will love her.”
“Yeah, Mom, let me go!” Johnny pulled loose, and soon both boys were roughhousing with Ursie, pushing and playing with one another, and without asking permission, they ran off in the direction of the lake.
Diana introduced Matthew to Brenda Sorvino.
“The resemblance between those boys is uncanny,” he told Johnny’s mother.
“I don’t see it.” Brenda frowned.
Clearly Mrs. Sorvino did not appreciate her son being compared to a ragtag Mexican boy. Her eyes appraised Matthew as she weighed whether or not it was safe to leave Johnny in his care.
But Matthew saw only Diana. She smiled at him while Brenda jabbered on and on about their upcoming shopping trip to Hickory. Diana’s soft white hair caught the morning light and laugh lines creased the corner of her expressive mouth. The scent of lilac, her favorite perfume, distracted him so badly that all he could think about was his hands, filthy with worm dirt. He jammed them into his pockets to keep from reaching out and touching her face.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Brenda announced. “I’ve decided Johnny should come along with us.”
A shadow of irritation clouded Diana’s eyes. Matthew had failed the chaperone test. He squared his shoulders and tried to reassure the woman. “Johnny will be safe with me, ma’am. We’ll wear life jackets and stick close to the shore, I promise. Please let him stay.”
Fortunately Matthew’s unique blend of treacle and molasses charm won the day, and Diana’s grateful smile was a fine reward. But as they drove off, Matthew suffered an acute tug of regret. He had visualized this day quite differently. Diana, Juan, and he should have been together in the boat, like a real family. Then later, alone in the gazebo, with Juan off playing in the yard, he and Diana might have… Matthew pulled back from the image with an ache in his chest as Diana’s car rounded the bend, and she was gone from his little world.