Becca (2 page)

“I wasn’t staring at your
legs.”

“Was it my butt?”

That made him smile.

“Ah-ha! You don’t deny
you
were
staring at my butt.”

“I told you before I
wasn’t staring
at you.”

“But you said you may have
glanced in my direction, so were you glancing at my butt?”

He shrugged. “I guess you
might say I
could
have been glancing at it, since it’s part of you.”

“I
knew
it. And
when you were cleaning my windshield you weren’t looking at my legs?”

“Nope,” he said, shaking
his head.

“Why not?”

“A lot of girls come in
here. I can’t be distracted by every pair of legs I see. Legs are legs.”

“Mine don’t distract
you?”

“Not particularly.”

“Boy, you know how to
sweet talk a girl, you know that?”

“I didn’t know I was
sweet talking you.”

“Anyway…sheesh…where did
we lose this conversation?
Anyway,
while you were cleaning the
windshield you were looking inside at me. I presumed it was my legs…or something.”

“It’s your imagination.”

“Nope, I don’t think so.
You were looking down at me—at my lap maybe.”

“I thought you said I was
looking at your legs.”

“You said you weren’t
looking at my legs, so I’m thinking it was my lap.”

“I was cleaning that
large bug carcass off your windshield, it may have looked like I was staring at
your legs or whatever else, but really I was concentrating on the job at hand.”

“What does that mean?”

“The job at hand?”

“No…whatever
else
.
That could mean anything. Was it my chest?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint
you, but I wasn’t looking at anything.”

“Liar. You said you were
watching me just now when I was walking to the bathroom. I say you were staring
at something when I was in the car.” The girl placed the back of hand to her
head and leaned her back on the seat.

“You stared at me,” Bert said
with a whimsical smile of his own.

“I did not.”

“Yes you did. Just for
second. What were
you
looking at?”

“Nothing— Oh, I’m so
confused.” She sighed heavily, feigning total frustration, but allowing a smile
to form on her full lips. “Before we go through a whole thing about it, I
may
have glanced intently at you, yes. But only to determine if you were the
same guy who comes into the A and P.”

“Am I?”

“Of
course
you are.”
She pulled her purse onto her lap. “How much do I owe you?”

“Two bucks.”

“I can’t believe I’m
paying you. I’m insulted. I should just drive away.” She let him take the five-dollar
note from her hand and took the singles from him. “Do you work here every
night?”

“Except for Fridays,
yes.”

“Wait, isn’t this Friday
night?”

“Well, then, except for
this
Friday night I don’t work on Fridays.”

“So what do you do on
Friday nights?”

“Go to the movies
mostly.”

“Mostly? Is there
something else you do?”

He sighed as if irritated
by her question. “No.”

“You don’t go out? I
mean, you know.”

“By that you mean do I go
out with a girl?”

“Or a guy.” She smiled.
“I’m very liberal. I don’t think that’s bad. So, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Jesus Christ you have a
short memory, do you go out?”

“No I don’t go out.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.” Can’t you
tell why? He wanted to ask her. She stared at him and he knew in her mind that
she had answered that question. A car pulled into the station. “Another
customer,” he said and jabbed his thumb at the customer’s car.

“Yes. Make sure you don’t
look at anything but the windshield when you’re cleaning it.” She started her
car. “Well, Bertram…er Josh, thank you for the gas and cleaning that glob of
whatever it was off my windshield.”

“You’re welcome. Come
back again.”

“I don’t think so. I buy
my gas at the Sunoco. It was crowded tonight and I was in a hurry so I came
here. But I probably spent twice as much time here arguing with you than I
would have spent just getting gas at the Sunoco.”

“Let that be a lesson to
you,” he said.

“Yeah…I’ve certainly
screwed up coming here.” She put the car in gear. “Good bye, Bertram.”

“Josh.”

“Oh, yes, excuse me—
Josh.”

“Good bye—say I don’t
know your name.”

“No, you don’t.”

“What is it?”

“Why do you want to
know?”

“You know mine.”

“Yes, but I’m never
coming back here again so there’s no point in you knowing my name now is
there?”

“I suppose not. But, I
might see you in the A and P.”

“It’s possible, but I
only work there four days a week now that I’m in college.”

“What days would those
be?”

“Why should I tell you
the days that I’m working there?”

“Why not?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but
so you know what days not to come in.”

“Why is that?”

“Because when you see me,
you might want to hang out and talk—kind of what we’re going here right now. My
boss wouldn’t like that.”

“I’d only come in there
to buy stuff. I wouldn’t want to waste your time. And to be fair, I’ll have to
ask you to not come here when I’m working here.”

“If I should ever come
back here, it will on a Friday because you don’t work Fridays. And don’t you
come into the A and P on Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday. Okay?”

“Got it.”

“Will you remember? You
didn’t write it down.”

“I’ll remember. And since
we’ll never see each other again, I might as well tell you that you were right
all along.”

“About what?”

“I
was
ogling
you.”

She nodded emphatically.
“I know. And if you
hadn’t
that would have upset me a lot”

“I don’t get it.”

“You’re not supposed to, but I’ll explain.
If you stare, it’s impolite. If you
don’t
stare it’s an insult because a
girl figures the guy doesn’t think she’s attractive enough to warrant his
attention even though she
knows
she does.” She giggled and waved her
fingers at him. “Good-bye.”

VI

It took him fifteen
minutes to walk home. The house, a two-story home set back from the street and
framed by two large oaks in the front yard, needed painting. A gentle light
that flickered occasionally shined through the shades in one of the front
rooms. He walked up to the front porch and opened the screen door, which gave
an annoying creak. In the living room to his left, the
The Tonight Show
played on the TV.

“Is that you, Bert?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“How was your night?”

“Fine.”

“There’re some sandwiches
in the refrigerator.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s a letter from
Matthew on the table. He’s in bought a house in Tampa. Imagine that. He just
received a big promotion and he’s asked me to come visit.”

“That would be nice, Mom.”

“Oh, I’m sure he means
us, Bertram.”

“I’m sure he did.”

Bert hardly knew his half-brothers,
but he knew them well enough to know that their absence from his mother’s life
was a reflection of their shame and embarrassment caused by her involvement
with Bert’s father. Perhaps if Bert did not live with his mother, her other
sons would reconcile with her—but as long as he was in her home, his presence
was a stark reminder of the anger they harbored for her indiscretion.

Bert went into the
kitchen and pulled the sandwich out of the refrigerator, poured a glass of
milk, sat at the table and read Matthew’s short letter as he ate. Afterward he went
to the living room to bid his mother good night.

The touch of his lips on her
cheek made her smile, but her son’s unhappy expression disturbed her. She took
his hand. “You seem so down all the time.”

“Sorry…I’m just…I don’t
know. I don’t see that anything’s changed.”

“Things
have
changed.
This is a nice neighborhood.”

“It’s not the
neighborhood, Mom. People look at me—at us—the same way they did at home.”

“Bertram,
this
is
your home.”

“You know what I mean. I
don’t fit in.”

She felt her son’s
loneliness and it hurt her. He had always considered himself an outsider, on
the fringe of belonging. She felt the familiar tug of guilt knowing even her
other sons never fully accepted him. She appraised Bertram. Six-foot tall,
lean, penetrating hazel eyes, thick curly black hair and a mouth that formed a
beautiful smile—or had when he was younger. People said he was beautifully
handsome. Such a shame that he did not realize how beautifully handsome he was.
Nor did others who looked at him because his handsome features were what set
him apart. “I’m sorry, baby,” she said.

“I wish you wouldn’t call
me that.”

“You are my baby. My last
child. You will always be my baby.”

“And don’t tell me you’re
sorry, Mom. You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“You need a friend,
honey.”

“I had friends before.”

“They got you in trouble.
They weren’t good friends.”

“Moving out here isn’t
going to get me friends.”

“No, but it will keep you
away from your old friends” She paused. “You need a girlfriend.”

“And how would I find
one?”

“You should go out—talk
to the girls. You can’t meet girls at the gas station.” She ran her hand
through his hair and that drew a smile from him. His beautiful smile. “Go to a
dance somewhere. Make friends.”

“It’s not easy.”

“You don’t try.”

Bert didn’t want the
discussion to turn into an argument. He said, “I’m going to bed, Mom.”

He went to his room, turned on the radio
on the nightstand. KDKA was broadcasting a Pirate game from Los Angeles. He
listened to Bob Prince’s play-by-play, but he was not hearing him as his mind went
back to the conversation with the girl in the car, and heard his mother’s
words, “
You can’t meet girls at the gas station.”

VII

“Where have you been?”

Becca stumbled on the
first step at the sound of the voice that stabbed at her from the dark living
room. She turned to face the blackness, knowing that in the corner, in the
recliner that faced another corner and the TV, he sat there, feet on the
ottoman, one hand curled around a pipe.

“I asked you a question.”
Now the smell of pipe tobacco—Sir Walter Raleigh Aromatic—wafted over her.

“I was out,” she said,
looking up the stairs at the light shining from under the closed door at the
top on the right. Mom was in bed watching
The
Tonight Show
.

“Of course you were out. I
know
that. That’s why I didn’t
ask
if you were out. I asked you
where you have
been.”

She said, “I went to
Barb’s and then we went to a dance at the Varsity House.”

“Yes, that’s what Barb’s
mother said. You left the Varsity House at what time?”

“Ten-thirty.”

“And went straight to
Barb’s to drop her off?”

“Yes.”

“And came straight home?”

“Yes. Well, I mean I
stopped for gas.”

“No you didn’t. Mr. Kline
said you hadn’t stopped in.”

“You
talked
to
him? You were checking
up
on me?”

“Yes,” he said as if her
question surprised him.

She said through a sigh,
“I didn’t stop at the Sunoco. It was too crowded. I went to that small gas
station on Allegheny River Boulevard.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t even know the
name of it. There’s no sign.”

“Why did you stop there?”

“I
told
you,
Kline’s was
busy
and besides the other station is right on the
way
—”

There was the Sir Walter
Raleigh again, and the sound of the heavy body moving on the chair. “Don’t
raise your voice to me, young lady. I’m your father—”

“I
know,
Dad, and I
think you regret it sometimes.”

“Don’t say that. I’m just
concerned about what you do.”