One Fat Summer (7 page)

Michelle wasn't in the house when I woke up Monday morning. She always makes her bed right away when she gets up, so I couldn't tell for sure if she came home late and left early, or never came home at all. I had my suspicions, of course.

I had breakfast, packed my lunch and went to work. Walking around the lake, it occurred to me that I had never spent a night all by myself alone in the house. I should ask her if she ever did come home last night. Then I'd know if I had been alone. It gave me the creeps to think I had been by myself.

There was only one Marino swimming around the island this morning, a red tube bobbing along behind. The swimmer's hair was very dark, so
that was Vinnie. I'd heard he was studying for his law school boards this summer. Had Pete already done his laps? Or was he just too tired from last night with Michelle?

Dr. Kahn was waiting for me at the top of the driveway. Nine o'clock sharp, High Basal Time. He nodded his bald freckled head. I think that meant he was glad to see me.

“I like a boy who's punctual on Monday morning,” he said. “The start of a new week. A new chance. We'll forget about last week.”

“Yes, sir.” I'd never forget last week.

I thought the green machine purred when I started it. You know who's the boss now, I told it. The lawn didn't look quite so big this week. My muscles started their usual complaining when I swung into my rows, but the sun baking on my back and the sweat pouring down my body felt soothing. All my blisters had broken and dried. I had a lot of dead skin on my hands, and I was getting calluses. The morning flew by. I stopped only to gas the machine and drink water.

The afternoon went more slowly. I probably shouldn't have stopped for lunch. My muscles stiffened up during the half-hour break, and it
took a while to get back into the rhythm of the mowing. The sun was stronger now, it felt like the breath of a dragon on the back of my neck. When I turned and walked into the sun, the heat hit my face like a steamy towel, and I gasped for air. I didn't even have the energy to think up daydreams, I just kept marching back and forth. But by three o'clock I had cut nearly half the lawn. I thought I saw a look of surprise in Dr. Kahn's eyes when I quit for the day. I could tell he was pleased. He had nothing to say.

I went home and showered and fell asleep. It was after seven when I woke up. The house was silent and cool. Mom had stocked the refrigerator for a week, cold cuts neatly packaged and labeled, fresh fruit and vegetables, a cooked meat loaf and a cooked chicken.

I made myself a couple of chicken sandwiches with a little lettuce and gobs of mayonnaise, and a pitcher of chocolate milk, but after finishing one sandwich and two glasses of chocolate milk, I got tired of eating. The house was so quiet. I turned on the radio to keep me company, but the static was annoying. There must be a storm somewhere. So I walked down to Marino's Beach.

Pete and Michelle were nowhere in sight. Connie was cleaning up behind the snack bar counter. I couldn't see her legs, but the way she was moving I could tell she was limping. I would have asked her if she had seen Michelle, but the look she gave me was so unfriendly I just kept walking. It began to get dark, storm clouds covering the last rays of the sun. I should have turned back home right then, but I felt good walking, and I wasn't ready yet to go back to an empty house. I remembered there was a little grocery store farther down the lake toward town. It was open late. I thought I'd get an ice cream pop and a couple of candy bars for the trip back home.

It was very calm on Rumson Lake, the lull before the storm. The water barely moved. There was only one boat on the water, a sailboat, and the guy in it was paddling back to shore. The sail hung limp, like a bedsheet on a clothesline. No wind. Few cars passed. Monday night isn't exactly a jumping night on Rumson Lake. Everybody's recovering from the weekend.

The man in the grocery store seemed glad to see me, there was nobody else in the store. He
put down the newspaper he was reading. “That Mickey Mantle, he's gonna be a great one,” he said. “Who you like better, Mantle or Mays?”

“Mantle,” I said. I could tell that's what he wanted to hear.

“Sure. When the going gets tough, down to the wire, you can't trust the colored. They choke.”

I paid for my ice cream and candy bars and got out of there as quick as I could. I didn't want to get into an argument with the guy. The ice cream tasted watery. Crummy ice cream. The pop was misshapen, as if it had thawed and been refrozen a couple of times. I ate it fast to get it over with, and started on the first candy bar. It was too soft and gooey.

I should have started an argument. Can't trust the colored. Like Jackie Robinson and Larry Doby? That would have stopped him cold. And then I remembered that Willie Mays had just gone into the Army. If Mickey Mantle's so great, how come he can't even pass an Army physical?

I felt disgusted with myself. Why'd I let him get away with saying that? By not saying anything, I let him think that I agreed with him.
Maybe he was just testing me, now he thinks I'm one of those anti-Negro creeps.

If my father was there, you would have heard an argument all right. He doesn't let remarks like that pass by. I wondered what Pete would have said. I started getting angrier and angrier. I turned around to go back to the grocery store, at least to tell the guy his ice cream stinks, but then I turned around again. Coward. Talk about being a rug. Everybody walks all over me. And laughs about it. My whole body shook, I was filled with angry energy. I kicked a beer can out of my way, and it skittered across the county road. A car coming along stopped short, then made a screaming U-turn. It was a blue-and-white Chevrolet. Willie Rumson jumped out.

“You've had the course, faggot.”

“Take a hike, Rummie.”

We just stared at each other for a few seconds. We were both shocked.

“What you say?”

“You heard me, Rummie. Take a hike.”

He took a step backward, then turned toward his car. I had a wonderful feeling. He's retreating. He's just a bully and when I called his bluff he
was through. But then he crooked his finger toward the car, and his hoods came out, two girls and three guys. One of them was Jim Smith.

“Now you gonna tell me not to stomp his face, Jim? What if that beer can went through the window, hit me, and I went into the lake. Huh?”

“Okay, okay, rap 'im a couple and let's get going.”

“He tried to kill me. The second time.”

“C'mon, Willie.” Jim put his hand on one of Willie's wide, skinny shoulders. Willie shook it off.

“I'm gonna teach this fat slob a lesson once and for all.”

“Just make it fast,” said Jim.

Rumson snapped his fingers. “Take him, boys.” Like a movie. The two other guys ran over and each of them grabbed one of my arms. I struggled, but they had firm grips. Rumson sauntered up like Al Capone. I got a little scared. He must be crazy. Why else would a guy with such a good skinny body have to pick on me?

“This is it, fats. Kiss tomorrow good-bye.”

“C'mon, Willie, just hit him and get it over with.”

Willie screamed, “If you got no guts, Jim, just move out.”

Jim came over to me. “Listen, fatty, I've got nothing to do with this. You understand?”

“Move out!”

Jim shrugged and walked away. I was sorry to see him go. We all watched him slouch down the county road until he was just another gray shadow in the dusk. When Rumson turned back to me, his thin face was twisted, and a vein as thick as a telephone cord stood out in the middle of his forehead.

“Your ass is grass, faggot, and I'm the lawn mower.”

He took one step toward me, his fists clenched. I kicked him right in the groin. Well, almost. I had seen it in a movie once, the hero being held by two outlaws while the leader came at him with a branding iron. I sagged back against the guys holding my arms, and when I felt them tighten their grips to support my weight, I aimed my right foot at the fly of Rumson's fatigue pants. He was very quick. He half-turned while
my foot was in midair, and caught most of my kick on his hip. It still had enough force to drive him back a few steps. If I had connected he'd have never gotten up.

He was smiling now, he didn't look angry at all. “Waal, we're gonna see just how tough you are with a tire jack wrapped around your head.” He snapped his fingers at one of the girls. “Laurie. Get the jack out of the trunk.”

“Not me, Willie.” She was thin, kind of pretty, with a lot of makeup. She looked closer to my age than Rumson's. “I'm not going to jail for killing that slob.”

“You don't do what I tell you, you'll wish you were in jail.”

“What's the big deal? You're gonna kill somebody for kicking a beer can?” said Laurie.

“You don't understand anything.” That vein was pumping hard. “Fat faggots come up from the city, smartass Jews and Wops and Greeks, always making deals, looking to cheat real Americans out of everything. Laughing at us all the way to me bank. Get away with anything, huh, take a man's job, take his land, take his house.”

“C'mon, Willie.” One of the guys holding me
laughed nervously. “This meatball couldn't even take a leak without someone giving him a hand.”

“He took my job,” screamed Rumson. “My job! And I served! In the Corps!”

“You'll get a job.”

“And his father took my lake away.”

“That's crazy,” said Laurie.

“Crazy, huh? Get that tire jack.”

“Look, Willie.” She was shaking. “You hurt him bad, even Homer won't help you.”

The other girl stepped out of the shadows. She would have been very pretty except for the scars around her mouth, thin red scars. An auto accident, I thought, she must have smashed her face against the windshield. When she talked I could see she was missing her side teeth, and her front ones were too white and perfect to be real. “I got a better idea, Willie.”

“Talk fast, Annie.”

“You want to get rid of him, right? Destroy him?”

“Yeah.”

“You beat him to a pulp, so what? Everybody knows you can take anybody on the lake.”

“What's your idea?”

“Really destroy him. So bad he can't ever show his face around here again.”

“Yeah?” Rumson looked interested.

“Strip him naked and leave him on the road.”

Rumson slapped his leg and began cackling. Laurie gave Annie a relieved look, and Annie rolled her eyes. The guys holding my arms loosened their grips. “Great, Willie,” said one of them, “that's really great.”

I broke loose and ran. I flew. I never moved so fast in my life. Right down the middle of the county road, arms pumping, legs like pistons. Once, I glanced over my shoulder. Rumson and his gang were gone.

I'm going to make it. Around the next bend in the road, the hill to my house. Once I hit the hill I'll be safe, even if they follow me up I can run into any house on the hill. I'm going to make it, just a little farther, I feel a second wind, new energy, just a few more steps.

A car coming toward me slowed. Maybe Pete, someone who knew me. The car stopped, doors flew open, and Rumson's two hoods had me by the arms again and were dragging me into the car. I tried to break loose again, but I had no
strength left. They shoved me into the back of the car. Rumson, at the wheel, was cackling.

“You can't get away from me, faggot, I know these roads like the palm of my hand.” He was bouncing on the driver's seat, and the car was swerving.

“For Christ's sake, take it easy,” yelled Annie.

“Eddie. Blindfold him.”

“What?” One of the guys holding me down in the back leaned forward.

“Wrap something around his eyes, a handkerchief or something.”

“What for?”

“Just do it.”

Eddie found a greasy rag on the ledge behind our seat and tied it over my eyes.

“Where you going?” asked Laurie.

“You'll see. But he won't.” Rumson's cackle was beginning to echo in my stomach. “Now everybody shut up. We're going for a little ride.”

I settled back in the seat. Got to think. I'm in a movie. Or a daydream. We're going for a little ride. How many times had I heard that line? Figure out where I am, the hero always does
that. Right turn. Left turn. Down a hill. U-turn. Forget it. I'd be lost now even if I could see where we were going.

Listen for clues. Once, in a spy movie, the hero was blindfolded, but he remembered hearing a creaking sound and later he figured out he was near windmills in Holland. But all I could hear was the screaming of tires as Rumson made two-wheel turns, and the heavy breathing inside the car. Mostly my own.

I was scared but I wasn't petrified. My mind was working. They weren't going to kill me. Rumson wasn't that crazy. Probably dump me somewhere on a country road. It would be a long walk back, but I'd make it. Unless they really stripped me naked. They wouldn't do that. Would they? Now I started to feel petrified.

We drove for a long time, more hills, more sharp turns. Too many. He must be doubling back to make me think we were very far away. The car jerked to a stop.

“Everybody out.”

The ground was mushy.

“Put him in the middle.”

They pushed me forward. I sank up to my ankles in soft mud.

“Step up, fats.”

I lifted my leg and somebody shoved me forward. I fell down against wet wood that began to sway under me. A boat. I heard the others climb in.

“Shove off, Eddie.”

“Jesus, we're stuck. He must weigh a ton.”

“C'mon, push. Push!”

The boat rocked, there was a scraping sound, and then we were floating on the water. The boat nearly tipped as Eddie climbed in. He dripped water all over me. I tried to sit up, but somebody pushed me down.

“Okay, me hearties, put your backs into it.” Rumson playing Captain Kidd. “Shall we make him walk the plank?”