Justin Kramon (20 page)

“I’m fine,” Gerald said, though he was leaning like a tree in a heavy wind. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll stay.” It was only seven o’clock, though already Gerald’s eyelids looked heavy.

“Yes, honey,” Laura said. “It would.”

They were all in bed by nine. Finny’s room was next to Laura’s, and that night Finny heard a thumping against her bedroom wall. The sound lasted for only a couple minutes, but it was enough to gross Finny out.

Chapter
21
The Tender Crab

The Tender Crab was, as one might guess, a seafood restaurant, and it was located in the ring of waterfront shops at Harborplace in Baltimore. Finny had convinced Sylvan to drive her, and to attend the performance—which was not difficult, since Gerald Kramp had spent the day at the house, and both Finny and Sylvan were happy to leave him and Laura alone for a while.

When they got to the restaurant, Earl was waiting in front. Finny heard the water sloshing beside them, some boats knocking into one another in the marina.

“Hey,” Earl said, and gave Finny a kiss on the cheek.

“This is Sylvan, my brother,” Finny said. “Sylvan, this is Earl.”

She could see that they were both looking each other over as they shook hands.

“It’s great to finally meet you,” Earl said.

“Likewise,” Sylvan said. “I’m glad Finny decided I was presentable.”

“Only now that you’ve gotten a haircut,” Finny said.

Sylvan blushed. “I was hoping the rat’s nest would come back in style,” he said.

Earl explained that Poplan was inside, saving tables for them. They walked under the neon sign, into the restaurant. It was dark inside. The room was cavernous, with wooden rafters in the ceiling, and fishnets hanging from the rafters, to give it the look of a ship’s hull. To the left was the family section, booths with hanging lights over them, tables covered with paper and the carcasses of crabs. The pungent smell of Old Bay drifted through the restaurant.

Earl pointed to the right, which was the bar section. Here the round tables were much smaller—they fit only two people—and the main attraction was a stage area toward the back of the room. Even though the music hadn’t started yet, there were a few dedicated drinkers already seated at the tables. One man was nodding to an unheard beat, and a woman with teased hair and a considerable amount of tattooed cleavage kept licking her lips like she had food on them.

“In front,” Earl said.

Then Finny saw Poplan, who was wearing a visor. She had two tables reserved, right in front of the stage. She waved to them, and they walked toward her. The floor in this section of the room was made of cement, painted a rust color, what must have been a last-minute budgetary decision by the owners. The wooden stage was elevated about two feet, and on it sat an upright piano and a straight-backed chair.

“Hey,” Finny said to Poplan, and gave her a hug. Poplan hadn’t gotten up—she must have been worried about keeping her seat. Now that Finny was close, she could appreciate the full effect of Poplan’s wardrobe. In addition to the visor, Poplan was wearing a white button-down shirt, tuxedo pants, and a black vest—like two pieces of a man’s three-piece suit. She also had a black armband around her left arm.

“Is it poker night?” Finny asked Poplan.

“What are you talking about?” Poplan said.

“Your outfit.”

“This,”
Poplan said, giving her shirt collar a tug, “is what I wear to all of his performances. It is my manager outfit. I believe it imparts a sense of respect to anyone who might observe me.” She nodded significantly when she finished saying this, as if it were clear that many people were observing her.

“This is my brother, Sylvan,” Finny said.

Sylvan held out his hand.

“Have you washed that?” Poplan asked.

Out of Poplan’s line of sight, Finny nodded vigorously.

Taking the hint, Sylvan responded, “Yes, of course.”

“Then it’s a pleasure,” Poplan said, shaking Sylvan’s hand.

“And I’m Earl,” Earl said to Poplan.

“What a beautiful name,” Poplan said, shaking Earl’s hand, which she must have been sure was washed. Finny was happy to see that Earl and Poplan had developed a rapport with each other.

“Since there’s not enough room at this table for all of us,” Poplan said, “you boys are going to have to make due with that one.” She nodded at the table next to them. “And by the way, you may order what you like to drink, but just make sure it looks enough like a soft drink that I won’t have to answer to anyone.”

Finny was a little nervous when she realized that Earl and Sylvan would be sitting alone, without her there to guide them through conversation. Finny was still afraid that Sylvan would dislike her friends, this other family; but when they sat down, Finny noticed that Sylvan and Earl fell almost immediately into conversation.

In a minute they all ordered drinks from a waitress who was chewing gum and called everyone “hon.”

“So tell me about this act,” Finny said to Poplan when their drinks arrived.

“Well, he’s backstage now,” Poplan said. “The act really isn’t anything special. I don’t want to tell you too much. You’ll just have to see.”

It was then that the stage lights went up, and Mr. Henckel walked onstage. Some of the chairs behind Finny had been filled—it was a solid little audience—and everyone clapped enthusiastically. Mr. Henckel took a gracious bow, as if he were onstage at the Meyerhoff, rather than the Tender Crab. He was wearing a full tuxedo, with cummerbund, and he had his comb-over slicked across his scalp.

“Doesn’t he look handsome?” Poplan said.

Mr. Henckel’s first piece was a Chopin mazurka (Poplan had the set list), a jaunty piece that set the audience hooting and applauding. He gave a little nod of acknowledgment, then launched into the final movement of the Moonlight Sonata, playing it in an agitated fury. The audience was silent, captivated. Mr. Henckel knew how to pause just long enough in the rests to make you yearn for that next note. He knew how to set off across the keys, his fingers running like the legs of centipedes. And he knew how to strike down on chords, making them ring in the large room. It was funny, Finny thought, but the music, which might have seemed plain in an auditorium, felt special here. In a way, it was more beautiful than it ever could have been in Carnegie Hall or Lincoln Center; it lifted you above the noise and clutter of your everyday life.

Then the piece ended. The audience clapped and whistled. And Mr. Henckel nodded, once, twice, three times. Only now the nod was different from before. Finny recognized it from her lessons, all those years ago. She saw him drifting, drifting. And then he was asleep, his chin resting on his chest. His comb-over stayed where it was, fixed by whatever hair product Poplan had used to slick it down.

“Oh no,” Finny said, looking at Poplan in alarm. The audience was completely silent. Poplan sat there, lips tight, waiting. When Finny tried to speak again, Poplan held her finger to her lips. Finny looked back at Earl. Earl shrugged. They waited some more. Finny felt awful for Mr. Henckel, embarrassing himself like this in front of all these people. She knew that soon someone would get up, lift him off the stage. She wondered why it hadn’t happened yet. Were they calling an ambulance? Was there a doctor on the way? It would be humiliating, whatever it was, and probably the end of Mr. Henckel’s new performing career.

Finally, after an excruciating five minutes, Mr. Henckel snorted awake. He looked around the room dazedly, cleared his throat, then said to his audience, “You’ll have to excuse me. It just comes upon me.”

What happened next was a miracle to Finny: the audience burst into applause. They cheered and cheered, stomped, smacked their hands on the tables, gave him a standing ovation. What’s going on? Finny thought.

Then Poplan leaned over and said in Finny’s ear, “You see, this is the business part of what I do. I knew he’d be falling asleep once in a while during performances. He can’t help it. So we set up this arrangement. There is a man backstage who times how long Menalcus sleeps. If it’s more than five minutes, everyone who’s attending the show gets a free drink. The regulars all know. It keeps them coming back. That’s how you turn a liability into an asset. Like I said before, it’s all in how you see it.” Poplan winked at Finny after she said this, and it might have been then that Finny first appreciated what a woman of vision Poplan truly was.

After the show, they chatted a bit. Mr. Henckel came out from backstage and enjoyed a cup of coffee with everyone. They told him what a wonderful job he’d done, and he said, “Oh, no, no.” Though a string of smile-frowns betrayed how proud he was of his newfound success.

Soon it was time to go, and everyone said goodbye. When Finny was giving Earl a hug, he said to her, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I’m going back to France in a week.”

“What?” Finny said, pulling back from him. How could he say it so casually, like he was running out to grab some milk at the supermarket? She felt as if a trapdoor had opened beneath her, and she was falling, falling. “That’s terrible.”

“I know,” Earl said, “but I really should spend the holidays with my mom. She doesn’t have anyone else. And New York is getting expensive.”

“When am I going to see you again?”

“Soon,” Earl said. “The thing I wanted to ask you is whether you might consider coming to Paris over the holidays to stay with me.”

Finny thought of the holidays at her own house—listening to her mother and Gerald thumping to the rhythm of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen”—and Finny said to Earl, “Of course I’ll spend the holidays with you. I’d love to!”

“So, what did you think?” Finny asked Sylvan while they were driving home from the performance. Sylvan had his eyes on the road, and didn’t turn toward Finny when she spoke.

“The performance was great,” Sylvan said. “I had no idea your friend was so talented.”

“And what about Earl?” She almost pinched herself after saying this. What if Sylvan didn’t like Earl? Would she never mention him to her brother again? She wasn’t sure she was ready for Sylvan’s judgment.

But he offered it before she could stop him. “Earl’s great. I have a lot of respect for what he’s doing. The writing, I mean. I could never put myself on the line like that. I’ve always played it safe with my choices. He’s really got courage.”

She could hardly believe what her brother was saying. As a child, she’d never known him to be a particularly modest person, but here he was, showing admiration for Earl. People had an endless ability to surprise Finny.

“What did you guys talk about?”

“Mostly about you,” Sylvan said, and raised his eyebrows in a way that let Finny know he was kidding. “Actually,” he went on, “we just talked a lot about what we’re doing. And a little about Judith, since I gather you guys have seen her. I was just curious what she was up to.”

“What did Earl say?” Finny asked quickly.

“Not much. Just that you met at a party, then had brunch together.”

“Yeah,” Finny said, grappling with herself over whether to go further. She decided to ask her brother some questions. “So I hear you’re going to be stopping by.”

“Tomorrow,” Sylvan said. “I think Maryland has done what it can for me. I’m going to stop for a night in New York, then head back up to school.”

“What are you guys planning on doing?”

“Just hanging out. Maybe catch some movies, or a museum or something.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I actually hadn’t really thought about that. I figured I’d, uh, see how it goes.”

“Do you guys see each other a lot?”

“You have a lot of interest all of a sudden,” Sylvan said, glancing at Finny as he settled into the middle lane of the Jones Falls. They were heading out of the city, past the broken factories and warehouses, the teeth of the shattered windows glittering in the expressway lights.

“I was just curious—”

“Then let me tell you everything,” Sylvan interrupted. “If you want to know. I need to say it anyway. The story is that I’ve been going down to New York every couple months since Judith started at Columbia. Usually we just hang out for the day, and sometimes I spend the night in her apartment. Or else I head back up really late and sleep on the Chinatown bus. I don’t think either of us was really sure what we wanted, but we liked spending the time together. And you might not want to hear this, Finny, but Judith was the first girl I ever slept with. Actually, the only one, if I’m being completely honest.”

“It was that time she came down to visit in the new house, right? When you two were acting so strange at breakfast.”

Sylvan nodded. “That was the, uh, first time, yeah. And it wasn’t that I felt awkward with her afterward. It was more that I really liked her—more than I expected.”

“I know what you mean,” Finny said. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“But anyway, the reason I’m telling you all this is that, in a funny way, your boyfriend was an inspiration for me. He’s dead set on becoming a writer, and he hasn’t given himself a way out. He’s going for it, damn the consequences. And I realized that I don’t have anything like that in my life, anything I’m that passionate about. Except Judith. I can’t be a writer or an artist or anything like that. But I can learn to put myself on the line a little, Finny, if it’s for something I care about.”

Now they were winding into the suburbs, past the Cold Spring Lane exit, the Exxon sign twirling on its pole like a lollipop in the big dark mouth of the sky. Finny felt, with every breath she took, like a balloon was expanding in her chest. She couldn’t stand to watch her brother set himself up this way. She’d always joked that he was a pretentious jerk, but in truth she knew him to be as delicate as that cracked candy plate Laura used to keep on the marble buffet in the old house.

“Do you know what else is going on in Judith’s life now?” Finny asked.

“Nothing in particular. She always says she’s busy with classes. She talks about her friend Carter a lot. Other than that, I don’t think she hangs out with a lot of people.”

“Listen,” Finny said, unable to bear the weight of her knowledge any longer, “there are some things I want you to know about Judith. It’s just that—” And she thought how to go on. She felt as if she were plunging into some dark, cold water—like the water outside the Tender Crab. “You have to understand that Judith is a little reckless sometimes. She’s a very close, dear friend of mine. I owe her everything for helping me fit in and get along the first time I left home. She’s full of energy, and good intentions. But sometimes she doesn’t see all the consequences of what she’s doing.”