The Thursday Night Club (5 page)

Some long, hard weeks had passed, weeks filled with mourning and terrible grief, blanketed in seriousness and some heavy responsibilities.
How would Jesse lighten things up?
Kevin wondered and smiled.
I know exactly how
. Right or wrong, Kevin decided it was time for some much needed comic relief.

Thursday morning rolled around. With a yawn, Kevin looked at his alarm clock. It read
6:55 a.m
. He smiled.
Time to get up
, he thought and swung his feet onto the floor. For a moment, the short stocky man peered out his bedroom window. It was another late fall morning—most of the world gray and preparing for a long hibernation. He looked back at his alarm clock and felt a rush of excitement.
Oh crap
, he thought,
they said seven o’clock
.

He quietly maneuvered past three piles of laundry—clean, clean enough and don’t even think about putting it on again until it’s washed—and stepped into the sparsely furnished living room. He turned on the radio—to low—and began flipping through the channels. From songs to talk shows, his hand moved quickly, searching for the right station. Suddenly, he found it through the static and stopped. Taking a seat on the edge of the worn leather sofa, he smiled and listened.

Randy’s—his roommate’s—cell phone started singing in the other room. Several seconds later, a telephone began ringing on the radio. Kevin smiled wider.

Randy answered, “Hello?” He was obviously half-asleep.

“Hi,” the morning DJ said, “may I speak with Randy Duhon please?”

“Yeah, this is Randy.”

“Randy, DJ Ramone here from Groovin’ 92.8.”

“Oh, hey Ramone,” Randy said; he was excited and completely awake now.

Kevin heard movement in the other room and chuckled.

“Randy, I have your resumé here in front of me and was wondering if I could take a few minutes of your time this morning to interview you?” DJ Ramone said. “In radio, there’s no better way to measure a person’s talents than through good old fashioned improv. Sound good?”

“Sounds real good,” Randy said, his voice clearly nervous. “Let’s do it!”

Kevin chuckled more.

“Great,” the DJ said, “well, it says here that you’re interested in a DJ internship with 92.8?”

“Absolutely! And I’d work hard for you too!” Randy vowed.

“Excellent. That’s just what we want to hear.” There was a pause. “And it just so happens that we might have an opening real soon.”

“Seriously?” Randy said. “Wow, that’s awesome!”

There was a bang in Randy’s bedroom.
He dropped his phone
, Kevin thought, smiling, and listened as his friend scrambled to pick it up.

“Sure is and it might be a great opportunity for someone with your aspirations,” the DJ added. “The thing is, though, the show’s executive producer has his heart set on finding a young British intern or at least someone who can pull off the accent. Still interested?”

Randy hesitated. “Did you say you want someone with a British accent?” he asked.

“I did,” the disc jockey confirmed. “Are you still in?”

“Ugh…yeah, sure,” Randy said, baffled.

Kevin stifled a chuckle that quickly turned into a giggle.

“Trust me, Randy. I’ve been in this business a long time and this is exactly the kind of thing that’ll take off,” DJ Ramone said. “I can almost guarantee you that the
Rockin’ Randy Show
will be a big hit! How ‘bout we run through some dialogue right now? You up for it?”

“I sure am. Let’s do it!”

Kevin could hear his roommate pacing the floor now.

“Okay, so let’s hear your intro,” the DJ said.

There was a brief pause. Then, as thousands of morning commuters listened in, Randy turned on his best British accent and sold his soul for a radio job. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s Rockin’ Randy,” he said in an absolutely terrible accent that sounded more like Australian with a mix of Mandarin Chinese, “and I’m comin’ your way, so if you wanna play you’d better stay…on Groovin’ 92.8!”

“Wow. Nice job!” DJ Ramone said, acting impressed. He then deepened his voice, pretending to interview him. “So, Rockin’ Randy, how’s life been treating you since you landed in the States?”

“I have to tell you, Ramone,” Randy said in the awful accent, “back in my old flat, I had my worries…really got my knickers in a twist about not fittin’ in, you know? But you Yanks have been first rate. I wouldn’t take a thousand quid to go back.” He sighed heavily. “Aye, this is home now.”

Kevin laughed so hard into the sofa pillow that he began to cry.

Ramone was also clearly enjoying the prank. “But you must miss some things about good old England?” he asked.

“Sure, I miss me Mum’s bangers and mash,” Randy replied, the accent getting even worse. “There’s no lift in the flat I moved into, so I have to take the stairs…” He took a deep breath, which sounded like a nervous wheeze. “And I’m still trying to figure out how to work the loo over here.”

With laughter creeping into his voice, DJ Ramone didn’t miss a beat and kept the fake interview moving along. “So tell me, any hobbies, Rockin’ Randy?”

“I play cricket when I’m not spinnin’ records, you know?”

“I do, except we haven’t actually
spun
records in the States for a few years now.”

Randy was stumped. Finally, he muttered, “Right oh, I knew that.”

“Did you get your own wheels yet or are you taking the bus?” DJ Ramone asked him.

“I did purchase a moto car,” Randy said, sounding like a chipmunk on steroids, “but the first time I lifted the bonnet to top off, I was surprised to discover that the petrol tank was located near the boot.” He thought for a moment. “And when the windscreen got dirty, I…”

DJ Ramone began to laugh, halting Randy’s horrendous spiel.

While the morning host struggled to get out another question, Kevin was rolling around on the couch, trembling in hysterics.

“Wow, that must have been quite the discovery,” DJ Ramone finally managed. “Well,
we’ve
got a little surprise for you today, too, Rockin’ Randy.”

“Cheers, mate! I fancy surprises, I do,” he said, still pacing nervously behind the closed door.

Ramone laughed. “That’s good,” he said, “because, Rockin’ Randy, you’ve just been
scammed.
”

There was a moment of silence. Even the pacing stopped.

“Pardon me?” Randy said, still staying with the bad accent.

“Kevin told us that you’re a communications major at the college and would do anything to work in radio,” Ramone explained.

“Good God, no!” Randy yelled in his normal voice—which Kevin heard twice; once from the other room and the second time on the delayed radio program.

DJ Ramone laughed. “And he wasn’t lying, was he?”

“Oh man, he’s
so
dead,” Randy barked even louder before hanging up the phone and throwing open his bedroom door.

As the music played at the end of the scam, Kevin sprinted for their bathroom. He quickly locked the door behind him and hyperventilated from laughter. “Gotcha buddy,” he said through the door.

Randy let out a wounded grunt and stomped back to his room, where he nearly slammed the door off its hinges.

Kevin unlocked the bathroom door and cautiously peeked out. “Gotcha,” he repeated.

Thursday finally arrived and the four friends got together on Izzy and Ava’s front porch.

“So, Rockin’ Randy, when do you start your new job at the radio station?” Ava asked, starting the night with the usual banter.

Both Izzy and Kevin laughed.

“Real funny,” Randy said, looking wounded. “I thought we were supposed to be helping people, not hurting them?”

“Oh please!” Izzy said. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Unable to hold back, Randy cracked a smile.

Ava shook her head. “It was the first time I’ve laughed since Jesse died.”

“Me too,” Izzy said. “And it was the first time things felt like they used to.”

Kevin nodded. “I know,” he said. “I think it’s cool we’re out there helping people, but I don’t think Jesse would have wanted us moping around like martyrs.” His eyes filled. “In fact, Jesse may have even given me the idea.”

Izzy, Ava and Randy nodded—their eyes also misting over.

“Thanks Kev,” Ava said sincerely.

“You’re welcome,” he said and looked directly at Randy—and winked.

“Whatever,” Randy said, shaking his head. “I’m still going to get you.”

Kevin slapped Randy’s back proudly. “Actually, ladies,” he said, “our friend Randy here said he was waiting for something big and just last night an opportunity presented itself…”

“What are you talking about?” Randy quickly interrupted. “I’m still waiting.”

“Sure you are, Captain America,” Izzy said, looking at Randy’s arm. “So where did you get the scratches on your arm from?” she asked.

“Yeah, look at them,” Ava said.

Randy shrugged. “I got into a fight with my landlord’s cat and lost.”

“Yeah right,” Ava countered.

Randy grinned. “No shame in it, though. Have you ever seen the size of that cat?”

Everyone laughed, while Kevin turned to Randy. “Nicely done, my friend. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I appreciate that,” Randy said, “but I have no intention of going near that cat again.”

“Well, if you ever need some hero support in the future, I’ll be happy to help you put your cape on.”

As they played cards, their laughter echoed down the street.

On Friday morning, a female college newspaper reporter approached Randy, notebook in hand. Randy kept walking.

“Randy Duhon, right?” she asked, in step with Randy.

“That’s me,” he said.

“By any chance, did you hear anything about an attempted sexual attack in the east parking lot last night?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t,” Randy said. “Did they get the guy?”

The reporter smiled. “Yes, they did. And according to the victim, some young hero appeared out of nowhere and saved her.” She winked. “And I’m told that you look just like him.”

“The sex offender?” Randy teased.

“No,” she said, smirking. “The hero.”

“I have a common face, I guess,” Randy said, shrugging.

She snickered. “So you’re not going to give me anything, huh?” she asked.

Randy stopped walking and faced the pretty reporter. “Actually, I am.” He looked around the campus. “Look, everyone makes fun of the campus police. They’re an easy target. Truth is, though, they’re understaffed with a whole lot of area to cover. There’s no way they can protect everyone on this campus and be everywhere at the same time.” He shook his head. “I’d like to call a meeting for next Friday at noon to be held in the cafeteria. We need to start taking some responsibility for ourselves and I’m thinking that a student crime watch might be the right start. For a college with a Criminal Justice program, I’m hoping that we’ll get some real support on this.”

The young newspaper investigator wrote feverishly into her notebook. When she finally looked up, Randy asked, “Did you get all that?”

She nodded. “I did.”

“Then that’s your real story,” he said. “Please run it.”

“I will,” she promised.

“Thanks,” he said and as he started to walk away, he added, “Last night is old news. The question is, what are we going to do to prevent these attacks in the future?”

She nodded once and captured the final quote in her notebook.

On the girls’ front porch—while the sky swelled with gray clouds, threatening an early snow—Ava was putting together baskets from the boxes of donated food items stacked in the corner. She was on her cell phone, talking as she worked. “Well, we’re looking for non-perishable items.” She listened and responded, “Yes, two other markets have already donated. I’m speaking with a newspaper reporter later this week and I’d really like to mention your market as well.” While Ava listened, a smile spread across her face. “Thank you so much. That’s very generous! The food will be going to some very special people who have fed others their whole lives. It just makes sense that we provide them with a meal or two. I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon to pick up your donations. Thanks again.”

Ava hung up the cell phone and started assembling another food basket.

In the morning, as Ava walked through the college quad on her way to class, she answered her cell phone again. “Hello. Yes, I’m she. I’m following up on those three shut-ins that we spoke about earlier in the week.” She listened. “Great. I’ll email those addresses over to you this afternoon. When will the meal deliveries begin?” She listened again and smiled. “Wonderful, and does
daily
mean the weekends, as well?” She smiled wider. “Awesome! Thank you so much. We really appreciate it.” Ava hung up, looked at her phone to check the time and picked up the pace to get to class.

Exhausted, Ava fought to stay awake during class. As she dozed off, Professor Larkin became insulted. “I’m sorry, Ms. Jacobs,” he said, raising his voice with each word. “If we’re keeping you awake, we can try to keep it down.”

Ava’s eyes flew open. “I’m…I’m sorry,” she stammered.

“It must have been a lively party, huh?” Professor Larkin said. “A late one, right?”

“Not at all,” she said.

“Okay, then tell us what has you napping during my class?” he said, sarcastically. “I doubt it’s because of late-night studying.”

Ava took a deep breath. “I needed to be there for a friend last night, that’s all,” she explained angrily. “But you have my undivided attention now, professor.”

There were snickers from the other students in the room. After a long, harsh look from Professor Larkin, the class instruction resumed.

Ava yawned once and forced her eyes to stay open.

From the center of the college campus, Kevin and a small army of backpack-wearing cyclists started off on their long journey. It was an impressive sight—as they rode through the campus. Randy and Izzy were there to cheer on Kevin and his cavalry. The group then rode out the front gate until the last one disappeared.

That night on the front porch, Izzy, Ava and Randy still got together. Everyone was deep in thought. Finally, Izzy said, “I hope Kevin stays safe out there on the road.”

“He said not to worry…it’s only a long bike ride,” Randy quipped.

“He told me the same thing,” Ava added.

“That’s so awesome,” Izzy said, “what he’s doing. Good for him.”

Randy nodded. “That’s our boy.”

There was no poker that night. Instead, they sat together in silence.

On Friday afternoon, Randy stood before the crowd. There were several dozen students—most of them Criminal Justice majors—and a few faculty in attendance.

“I could go on and on today,” Randy said, “trying to sell you on all the reasons for us to begin a student-run crime watch, but I’ll make this simple.” He referenced his notebook. “We’ve had three successful sexual attacks on campus in the past two years. And for one reason or another, there were two others that were unsuccessful.” He looked up. “And we all know that there’ll be more. I’m not saying we’ll be able to stop every animal that steps foot on our campus, but I have no doubt that we’d be able to stop some of them.” He paused. “So, for me it’s real simple. If we can stop one of our own from becoming another statistic, from becoming a victim, then it’s worth every second of our time and effort.” Randy placed a blank book in front of him. “If you agree, I’d like you to sign your name under mine on this list today. We can work out the logistics later, but for now let’s see what kind of force we can amass.”

One student began clapping, who was followed by another— until everyone was applauding.

Randy watched in awe as a single line formed, with several dozen students waiting to sign up. He then looked over to see the college newspaper reporter writing into her notebook. He approached her. “Hey, I need a favor,” he said.

“Oh, no worries,” she said, “I planned on signing up and—”

“No, not that,” he interrupted, “though that would be cool.” He paused in thought. “No, the favor is…although I’d very much like you to run this story, with the hope of recruiting more crime watchers, I need you to keep my name out of it.”

She was surprised. “Why?”

“Please,” he repeated, “just don’t use my name, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, reluctantly.

Randy patted her on the shoulder before returning to the sign-ups.

Across town, Ava passed through the projects on her way to Mr. Dwyer’s apartment. “Oh my God,” she muttered and looked up. Although it hadn’t even drizzled, a rainbow suddenly appeared—its vivid colors stacked one on top of the next. It was the type of sign that could not be denied. She nodded, thinking,
I’m exactly where I need to be.

On the afternoon she’d first met Mr. Dwyer, she’d brought him a deep dish pizza and they played cribbage. There was nothing behind his eyes; just the distant gaze of a man waiting to die. But a few subsequent visits seemed to soften and even spark a fire back into his sapphire eyes.

Ava sat in Mr. Dwyer’s kitchen, preparing a snack for the elderly man.

“Why do I need to leave the apartment, Ava?” Mr. Dwyer asked. “I have everything I need here.”

“Sure,” Ava teased, “everything but contact with other people.”

“I have you,” he said, smiling.

“Yes you do. And I’ll keep coming over every chance I get.” She paused. “When’s the last time you left this apartment?”

The old man thought for a while, but couldn’t remember.

“Just try it once,” she prodded, smiling, “for me.”

Mr. Dwyer grinned. “That’s not fair. Why is it so important to you?”

“Because I know it’ll increase the quality of your life.” She nodded. “I’ve done the research. There’s a poker game every Friday afternoon at the Council on Aging Hall. They’ll send a bus to pick you up and drop you off, so there are no excuses there.”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Do you need me to teach you how to play poker?” she teased.

“I put two of my kids through college playing poker.” He grinned. “You want to play me for your tuition money?”

“So a Friday game will be fun then, right?” she said.

The old man sighed heavily. “Okay, I’ll try it,” he said, finally surrendering.

Wearing her best smile, Ava nodded.

The two sat and watched TV together for a few minutes when Mr. Dwyer confessed, “Ava, from the first time you knocked on my door, I’ve honestly felt like God sent me a guardian angel.” He matched her smile. “I hope you have one too.”

Ava nodded. “I do,” she said. “His name’s Jesse.”

Izzy and Ava were sitting together on the porch studying for finals, when a young couple—the woman pregnant—ascended their stairs.

“Excuse us for intruding, but is one of you Isabella Evans?” the man asked.

Izzy sat up, curious. “I am.”

Without a word, the pregnant woman hurried to her and gave her a hug. Both Izzy and Ava were taken aback.

The man quickly explained. “Isabella, I’m Don and the woman hugging the life out of you right now is my wife, Tracy. Our four-year-old son, Cameron…” he became choked up, “…was dying from leukemia until you saved his life.”

“She what?” Ava squealed.

While Tracy let go of Izzy, she turned to Ava. “Isabella was a perfect match for Cameron and donated her bone marrow. We didn’t think…” Tracy began crying.

Don took over. “The radiation and chemotherapy treatments didn’t work for Cameron. Three weeks ago, the doctors pretty much told us to say our good-byes to him.” He paused to compose himself. “But an angel showed up out of nowhere and spared our boy’s life.” Don approached Izzy, who accepted his hug.

“So we came to say thank you,” Tracy said, rubbing her belly, “and to ask your permission.”

“Permission?” Izzy asked, confused.

“Tracy nodded. “We’d like to name our daughter, Isabella, if it’s okay with you?”

“Oh, Iz,” Ava cried.

Izzy was overwhelmed with emotion and could only nod.

The four sat together for a while, alternating between conversation and wiping away tears.

An hour later, as the sun set for the night, Izzy’s surprise guests bid their farewell. She and Ava sat alone.

“Mono?” Ava snickered. “That was a good one.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Izzy said, “I didn’t like it.”

“That’s fine,” Ava said and smiled. “Well, it looks like you just won four quarters,” she teased.

Izzy looked hard at her friend. “No, Ava. Swear to me that you won’t tell a soul.”

“But why?”

“It just doesn’t seem like it’s something I should take credit for,” Izzy explained. “It’s bigger than that, you know?” She paused. “Besides, Jesse knows…”

“And so does God,” Ava interrupted in a whisper.

“Exactly.” Izzy smiled. “And that’s my point, Ava. No one else has to know, okay?”

“Okay,” Ava conceded.

Ten hours later, it was just past dusk when Kevin—covered in four days of sweat and dirt—led his exhausted troops through the college’s front gate. While most of the bike riders could barely keep their eyes open, Kevin’s emerald eyes sparkled with joy. “We did it!” he said aloud.

The sun rose in the east, chasing away the shadows on the campus quad. Izzy stood at a table, with other college-aged volunteers. A banner reading,
ADULT LITERACY BOOK DRIVE
hung across the front of the table. While college students and faculty stopped by to donate their used books, Izzy was on her cell phone with the local library. “I guess the bottom line is that you’ll never have to throw away another book,” she said. “We’ll take them all. And we’ll take care of storing them, moving them and distributing them. Can we meet next week to finalize the logistics?” She listened. “Fantastic! You just made my day.”

That night, on Izzy and Ava’s front porch, the crew gathered for their weekly get-together and to celebrate their recent achievements with a pizza party.

“One more week to go until Christmas,” Ava said, “until we see who won the contest.”

“Everyone ready?” Izzy asked.

The boys nodded but remained quiet.

“Silence until the end,” Ava said. “I love it.”