I Know This Much Is True (28 page)

Had him apologize over the PA during morning announcements to all the former and present student athletes whose victories he had mocked. Then he made him run laps after school every afternoon for two months. Leo’s mother, who had just become Three Rivers’

first city councilwoman, dragged him once a week to a “specialist.”

After all that running and counseling, Leo dropped thirty pounds and grew his hair long. By springtime, he was lead singer for this garage band called the Throbbers. Now girls liked him. Skanky girls at first, and then more and more popular ones, including Natalie I Know[169-263] 7/24/02 12:37 PM Page 182

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Santerre, who everyone thought looked like Senta Berger and who Leo claims to this day gave him a BJ the weekend before her family moved to North Carolina. The Throbbers played the usual covers:

“Wild Thing,” “Good Lovin’,” “Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown.”

Leo was a real ham; whenever they did that Question Mark and the Mysterians song, “Ninety-six Tears,” he’d drop to his knees and act like he was blowing a gasket because the girl in the song had left him. The band fell apart after a while, but by then Leo had become addicted to the attention—to standing up there on a stage. He majored in acting at UConn, dealt a little weed on the side, and was, during his junior year, stud enough to have bonked all three of Chekhov’s Three Sisters over the course of a two-month rehearsal. According to Leo, that is, who you’d never mistake for a reliable source—particularly on the subject of his sex life. He played Snoopy during his junior year in
You’re a
Good Man, Charlie Brown.
That was the highlight of Leo’s dramatic career: Snoopy. Dessa and I had been going out for about six or seven months by then. (Dessa didn’t like Leo that much; she tolerated him.) When she and I drove up to see
You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown,
we brought Dessa’s sister Angie along. Angie had dated my brother just before that—a two-month disaster I don’t even like to think about.

But anyway, for better or worse, Angie sat that night in the audience and fell in love for life. Dessa and I got to hear all the way home how adorable Leo looked, how funny he was, how Angie had laughed so hard at one point, she’d wet her pants. After Leo found out about his one-woman fan club, he asked Angie out. They went at it hot and heavy all that summer—the summer of 1971—then seemed to cool off. But the following Christmas, when Dessa and I told them we were thinking of getting engaged after graduation,
they
told
us
that Angie was pregnant. Shit, man, if Angie hadn’t miscarried, that kid would be what by now? Eighteen?

That whistling sign-painter had finished his first letter on the plate glass: a blue “G,” as tall as Joy. Leo came walking back across the showroom.

“Hey, I forgot to tell you,” I said. “Guess who I saw down there I Know[169-263] 7/24/02 12:37 PM Page 183

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at Hatch in the middle of everything else last night? Ralph Drinkwater.”

“Drinkwater? No shit. God, I haven’t seen Ralph since . . . when did we have those summer jobs?”

“Nineteen sixty-nine,” I said. “The summer we landed on the moon.”

“So how’s he look? Ralph?”

“Not that different, really. I recognized him right off.”

“Jesus, remember that bag job we pulled on him? With the cops?”

“The bag job
you
pulled on him,” I said. “
You
were the one who sat there in that station and told them—”

“Oh, yeah, Birdsey, you were Mr. Innocent that night, right?

Hey, not to change the subject. What do you think of this suit?” He got up from behind his desk, turned to the side, and strutted back down to that white-on-white LeBaron.
Virgins
is what Leo calls the floor models. The suit was tan, double-breasted. Looked too big for him in my book.

“I picked this up in New York yesterday when I auditioned,” he said. “Armani—top of the line. I felt like celebrating because things went so well.”

Leo and his auditions. For all the tryouts he’s rushed to New York for over the years, I’ve only seen him on TV in two things—a Land-lubber’s Lobster commercial that ran sometime back in the mideighties and this public service thing for AIDS prevention. In the restaurant ad, Leo played a wholesome dad taking his happy family out for seafood. The thing starts with a close-up of Leo, bug-eyed and looking like he’s having an orgasm. Then the camera pulls back and you see a waitress tying one of those plastic bibs around his neck. There’s this motherfucking
monster
of a lobster in front of him. The rest of the family looks on, smiling like they’re all high on something, even Grandma. The other ad—the public service thing—is something they still run every once in a while at two or three in the morning, usually when I’m riding the Insomnia Express. Leo plays a dad in that one, too—shooting hoops with his teenage son and talking man to man I Know[169-263] 7/24/02 12:37 PM Page 184

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about responsibility. At the end, Leo says, “And remember, son, the safest thing of all is waiting until you’re ready.” Leo and Junior smile at each other, and Leo takes a hook shot. There’s a close-up, nothing but net. Then Leo and the kid high-five each other. The first time I saw it, I laughed out loud. For one thing, Leo couldn’t make a hook shot to save his ass. Back in high school, he made up a story about a damaged left ventricle and conned his way out of gym class for two years in a row. And for another thing, Leo talking about abstinence is like Donald Trump talking about altruism.

“So get this, Birdsey,” he said. “I buy the suit, have them alter it, and I get back home around midnight. The house is dark, Angie and the kids are asleep. So I nuke myself some leftovers, flip on the tube, and there’s Arsenio wearing the exact same suit I just bought.
Arsenio,
man!

Recently voted one of the ten best-dressed guys in America. It’s an omen.”

“An omen?”

“That I’m going to get that part. How much do you think I paid for this baby, anyway?” He stroked a jacket sleeve, pivoted to the side again. “Italian silk,” he said. “Go on, take a guesstimate.”

“Hey, Leo,” I said. “I’ve got one or two too many things on my mind right now. I don’t particularly feel like playing
The Price Is
Right
with you and your new suit.”

“Go ahead. Guess!”

“I don’t know. Two hundred? Two-fifty?”

He snorted. Jabbed a finger upward.

“Three-fifty?”

“Try
fourteen-
fifty, my man.”

“Fourteen-fifty? For a
suit
?”

“Not
a
suit.
This
suit. Feel it!”

I rubbed the end of the sleeve between my thumb and finger.

“Yeah?” I said. “What? It feels like a suit.”

He picked a little imaginary lint off the jacket. “Hey, what do you know, Birdsey?” he said. “You work in overalls. By the way, did I tell you this audition’s for a
movie,
not a commercial?” He sat down again and leaned back, balancing himself on the back legs of his I Know[169-263] 7/24/02 12:37 PM Page 185

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chair. “Nothing big-budget, but it’s a credential, you know? A stepping-stone. Psycho flick—probably right to video here in the States with limited release to the foreign markets. Korea, Hong Kong—places like that. They eat that slasher shit up over there.”

“You already told me it was a movie,” I said.

“I
didn’t
already tell you. When did I tell you?”

“I don’t know? At racquetball?”

“I just went to New York yesterday. We played racquetball the day
before
yesterday.”

I was starting to feel a little woozy. “Oh, yeah, that’s right. Angie told me, I guess. Hey, you got any coffee around here?”

“You know we got coffee. Black, right? When did you see Angie?”

“I didn’t see her. I talked to her last night when I called looking for you.”

“What did you want?”

“Huh? Nothing. I just wanted to tell you about my brother.

Black, two sugars.”

“Hey, did I tell you I’m off coffee? I been reading this book called
Fit for Life.
Angie got it for me. We’re getting one of those juicer things, too. This book says caffeine’s as bad for you as poison. Refined sugar, too: a real no-no. But anyways, you know what this movie’s about? There’s this weird broad, see? And she’s both an artist and a female serial killer. First she gets screwed over by all these guys, okay?

Has all these traumatic experiences. Then she snaps. Starts murdering all the guys that dumped on her and painting these weird pictures with their blood. So all of a sudden, the art critics discover her, see? She starts getting real big in the art world, only nobody knows what she’s using for paint, okay? Or that she’s painting pictures during the day and killing all these guys at night. I read for one of the victims—the first guy she offs—this art professor who wants to dick her in exchange for an A. I think I got a good shot at it—a callback, minimum. ‘Very nice,’ the casting guy said after the reading. ‘
Very
nice.’”

“And not that much of a stretch for you, either,” I said. “Playing a sleaze.”

“Hey, fuck you, Birdsey. But really, though, the signs are all there I Know[169-263] 7/24/02 12:37 PM Page 186

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on this one, you know?” He looked around, then leaned forward across his desk. Turned his voice to a whisper. “And get this. If I get the part, there’s this scene where the psycho bitch goes down on me.

Just before she kills me. Don’t say anything to Angie if you see her, okay? She’d go apeshit. I started doing sit-ups this morning because I’m like 99.9 percent sure I’m getting the part.”

“Black, two sugars,” I said.

The front legs of his chair thunked back down to earth and he stood up. “Poison, Birdseed, I’m telling you. Live clean or die.”

While I waited for him to get back, I walked around the showroom. Checked out an Isuzu truck they had parked over by the window. Thumbed through a couple of brochures. The sign-painter was on his second letter: G-O.

I was glad my father-in-law wasn’t in. My
ex-
father-in-law. We’d always gotten along, Gene and me. He’d always favored me over Leo. Sometimes it was so obvious, it got embarrassing. We’d all be over at the house, some holiday or another, and Gene would invite the two Peters and Costas and me into the den for ouzo, or out for a walk through their orchards, and there Leo would be, in the other room with the kids and the women. It was sad, too, because it was an extension of the fact that the old man has always favored Dessa over Angie. That one was so obvious, it was painful. But all that changed. Ever since the divorce, if I dropped in at the dealership to see Leo and Gene was there, it’d be like I was the Invisible Man or something. Like I hadn’t been the guy’s son-in-law for almost sixteen years. Like
I
left
her
instead of the opposite.

I could hear Leo out by the service area, yapping with somebody instead of getting me my coffee. Leo’s desk was one of four parked right out there on the showroom floor. Don’t ask me why I remember this, but I do: he started working for Constantine Motors the day Reagan got inaugurated and Iran freed the hostages. Nine years and still no private office. One time, when Leo was bitching about it, he said, “If it was you, Dominick, instead of me, you probably would have been a VP by now, never mind a simple office with a door on it.” And he’s right. I
would
have been.

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The Old Man’s office suite is something else. He’s even got a private bathroom in there—good-sized, too. Must go about eleven-by-eleven. It’s got a red tub with gold fixtures and a hand-painted mural of the Trojan War. How’s this for mature? Leo always makes sure he takes a dump in Gene’s private facility whenever the Old Man’s out on the lot or off someplace checking on one of his other gold mines. (Besides the dealership, Gene and Thula own a couple of strip malls—one here in Three Rivers and another up the road in Willimantic.) The Constantines are big into those hand-painted murals, though: they’ve got them over at the house, too—one in the dining room and the other up in Gene and Thula’s bedroom. The Aegean Sea, that one is. On the wall opposite their bed.

Leo and I ended up getting engaged to the Constantine sisters the exact same week. Dessa and I had been making plans right along, but not Leo and Angie. Theirs was your basic shotgun situation. The Old Man sent word through his daughters that he wanted to meet with Leo and me at his place of business. Give us his big “future son-in-law”

speech. This was before he knew Angie and Leo had a kid on the way—before Angie dropped
that
little bomb on her father, which she did in the limo ride over to the church. Leo and I could come in together for the big talk, Gene had said; what he had to say, he could say to both of us. I remembered it whole, that summit meeting in Gene’s private office. “Come in, gentlemen, come in,” he called to us after we’d sat a while in his outer office. Leo thought it was all a big goof, but for me it felt like waiting for the doctor to call you in and vac-cinate you. “In here,” Gene said, and the next thing you know, we were in that frigging bathroom of his. He was taking a bath in his red tub. I stood there, not wanting to look at his hairy gorilla body or look him in the eye, either. Dessa wasn’t pregnant or anything, but it was thanks to birth control pills, not abstinence. I kept looking at the Trojan War over the Old Man’s shoulder—soldiers inside the gates, leaping from the belly of that fake horse.

“Gentlemen,” Diogenes began. “My two daughters have enjoyed a good life up to this point. Their mother and I have done our best to provide them with all of life’s necessities and some of its luxuries I Know[169-263] 7/24/02 12:37 PM Page 188