Stealing Flowers (12 page)
“Why I’m really unhappy is because of the
amount of homework. It took me this whole time to do it. Now Sally
and I won’t be able to play tonight. She’ll have to do her
homework.”
Una grunted in her kind way, a type of a
grumbling hum. “Go get your assignment sheet,” she said.
When I returned, she giggled to herself, her
eyes lighting up. “You’ve already finished all of this?” I nodded.
“Look at this, would you?” She pointed to the sentence in
small-type at the top of the page. Homework for the week of Sept.
5-8, due on Monday.
“You know this is Tuesday?”
I realized my mistake and laughed for a
minute. “My homework is all done for the week?” I asked.
Una nodded and rubbed my head. A wave of
relief washed over me. “Do you think you will like school at
Wedgewood?” she asked.
“I think it might be boring, but maybe
not.”
“Not like Una’s classes?”
“That’s real school.”
“You’re smart, my full-grown child. You’ll
do well. You go tell Sally and Kelly Anne to clean up and hang the
clothes back where they got them, and put the zoo animals away too.
Ten minutes and it’ll be time to go. Ten minutes is all.”
I took my runners off and snuck up the
carpeted stairs. I crouched before Sally’s door, readying to scare
them. When I rushed into the room and shouted, they were in the
midst of a change and Kelly Anne had only panties on. They jumped
back and screamed. I laughed, and so did Kelly Anne, but Sally gave
me an angry look.
“What?” I said.
“Get out,” she shouted.
I left and closed the door, repeating Una’s
orders from outside of it and leaving. Before I fell asleep that
night, Stan let himself in after a soft knock. “I’ve found an alarm
clock to get you up for your basketball practices,” he said. “I’ll
set it for six-thirty and we can have breakfast together, then I’ll
drive you to school.”
The brand-new clock-radio was no bigger than
a loaf of bread and carried the insignia of Factory Bright. It had
numbers which turned over and a blue-tinted window to see them
through. He showed me how to set it.
“You can have music, beeping, or this: “Get
out of bed, you lazy horse,” a voice screeched out of the box.
“It’s time to go to work!”
I laughed and so did Stan. He was one of a
kind and I dreamt about him now almost every night. I hugged him
and he hugged me back. It was very emotional.
When I awoke at one o’clock, I crawled into
bed with Sally and she was awake.
“Did you get a good look at Kelly Anne?” she
asked accusingly.
I’d forgotten all about it. Truth was, even
though I was completely in love with Sally, the woman at the
Principal’s office with the large brown nipples and full breasts, I
had learned that her name was Julian Provost, had sparked my
imagination and even when I was with Sally I knew I would think of
Julian’s beautiful curves and full breasts.
“I was just playing a joke on you,” I said.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do it again.”
The next morning, Una made Stan and me hot
waffles with fresh cantaloupe and vanilla ice-cream. Afterward,
Stan brought me to school and came with me to the gymnasium. His
grey suit almost glistened, and certainly, he smelled good, his
cologne was like allspice or cinnamon. To my surprise Kurt was
there. An even greater surprise was that Principal Adams was there
as well. He and Stan shook hands. They both stood the same height,
but their looks couldn’t have been more different, one trim, one
stout.
“Christian, this is Coach Kray,” the
principal said. I shook hands with a man I had spotted around the
school, someone I’d taken to be the music teacher, a well-formed
slim dirty-blond-haired man with dull blue eyes and a commanding
smile, which he flashed for me. “Good of you to come,” he said with
a mischievous smile. “This way.”
I waved good-bye to Stan as I walked away
and he winked, but continued to talk to Principal Adams which
worried me more than it should have. Coach Kray opened the change
room door and shouted in behind me, Terry, check out this fine
fellow’s shoes and see if they’ll do the job.” He looked me over
again. “My son will look after you, the tall one, inside.”
Kurt was putting on his shoes and sat beside
an older lanky teenager with a tapered-body and dark hair. He had
only a vague resemblance to Coach Kray. Though he was completely
naked when he greeted me, I didn’t mind. A dozen boys were gathered
in the room, and many of them were in different stages of dressing.
Terry had a patch of bright black pubic hair above his large penis,
made to look all the larger because like Lloyd, his knob was
covered with loose-skin which hung over and completely hid it.
Other than that, he had no body hair. If he ever tried to bugger
me, I’d have fought to the death. I’d imagine he could have ripped
someone’s insides with a thing that size when it got hard.
“Let’s see your court-shoes, pal,” he said
with a smile drawing my attention away from his mid-section. I
showed them to him and he passed them back after a brief glance.
“They’re fine,” he said.
I quickly dressed and joined Kurt on the
court. When everyone was out from the dressing room and shooting
hoops, Coach Kray blew his whistle.
“Gather around,” he shouted. “We’re going to
divide into three groups. Principal Adams will explain the tactical
merits of man-to-man, the only game we play here. Got it? We play
big. First rule, man to man. Terry’s going to teach shooting
technique, but remember, when it comes to shooting, it’s 90%
practice. I’ll be teaching you how to dribble, pass, jump-shoot,
rebound, screen, and the rudiments of the game.”
We were divided into three teams and the
lessons began, followed by a half-hour scrimmage at eight o’clock,
then we hit the showers. To my utter surprise, I enjoyed every
minute and it was all I could think about the whole day. My first
week of school ended well, the story of my altercation with a grade
five student, put me in good stead with the students of grade four,
no one tried to bully me, no one even challenged me. That Saturday
I visited Tappet’s head office with Mary and Stan. The shining
platinum modern high-rise, carried the logo on the top-floor of,
American Express.
“That’s who makes my credit card,” I said
from the backseat, unable to hide my shock. “Why isn’t the building
called Tappets?”
“I don’t understand why a sign is
important,” Mary said. “We own the building. Did your father put
you up to asking that?”
Stan laughed and I shook my head,
bewildered, but also counting the number of floors; fifteen.
“They won’t be there forever,” she assured
me as though I was an adult who had openly criticized her. “Already
they’re too big for the building and if we can afford it, we’ll
take over the floors, but we really don’t need the room. This isn’t
Factory Bright or Tappet Tapes. This is a building for pushing
paper.”
Stan grunted but I nodded. I never wanted to
be on the other side of an argument with Mary. We took an express
elevator to the top floor, and from Stan’s office windows, I looked
on New York City, especially Manhattan Island, and it drew my
attention away before I saw anything else in the room. It was a
beautiful clear day, and when I got close, I could see the Empire
State, the Seagram, and the Chrysler Buildings. In 1968, they were
some of the tallest ones standing, except for some further back of
which I didn’t know the names. The office held pieces of solid oak
furniture, and along the walls, glass-enclosed cabinets contained
replica miniature warplanes, spanning the last four decades, these
included a special place for the ones Stan had flown in the Korean
Conflict, including the P-38 Lightning and the F-86 Sabre. A
reproduction of a Soviet-made supersonic MiG-15 also took a
prominent position. The recent MiG-23 and a F-14 were my favorites.
They both looked very daunting and superior.
Large artisan ceramic pots held huge
bouquets of orchids, and on the wall opposite Stan’s desk, hung a
reproduction of a large landscape painting. I read the etching on
the frame: The Ray of Sunlight, by Jacob van Ruisdael, 1682. Three
other smaller photographs of Stan beside large lathe machines
mounted and laminated on a eight-by-five-inch embossed metal sheet,
hung below the warplanes, titled: The Tappet D+ terre-lathe,
Connecticut 1951, Tappet lathe precision with K-Q adaptor, Maryland
1953, and The Tappet-German locus-lathe XD+, Berlin 1954. I
wondered how long I should dutifully study everything.
“Hello Christian,” Isaac said and entered
the office. “I heard you were dropping by.”
I realized, looking at Isaac at work, how
striking he was with his deep tan and his trim fit. He was dressed
in a flawlessly tailored powdered-grey suit. He looked like the
president instead of my parent’s secretary.
“Your dad has people waiting. Come with me
and I’ll show you around some more before Larry takes you
home.”
Stan hugged me. “Why aren’t there any Cessna
airplanes in your collection,” I asked.
“It’s a warplane collection.”
“Can we go flying tomorrow?”
Stan looked at Isaac, who nodded. “I believe
we can, if it’s a short one,” Stan said and kissed the top of my
head. I couldn’t have been happier.
When we got to Mary’s office, it was the
very opposite condition of Stan’s. No collections, no flowers, and
no pictures. It seemed to contain only work items. It was much
bigger as well, and several desks sat in the corners with
microfiche-computers, typewriters, dictaphones, and other devices.
Generally it appeared to me to be chaotic, and when I’d to come and
work, I hoped it was with Stan. I came around behind Mary as she
worked and kissed her.
“Goodbye,” I said and noticed a small
picture of Sally and me on her desk.
“Una’s going out tonight, don’t forget,”
Mary said. “Would you like to go to Sally’s diving lessons?”
I nodded and Isaac saw me to the car. Larry
took me directly home and I sat quietly in the back without saying
a word until we got home. He was a man of few words and I respected
it. Sally and I played the whole day upstairs, until Mary came
home. We’d fresh fruit and macaroni and cheese for supper, then
drove to the South Orange Swimming Center, a peculiar-looking
structure next to the Hudson-Hoboken Secondary High School. The
September evening was perfect and I held Sally’s hand. The boy’s
change room smelled musty and faintly of urine, but it was clean
and I was alone. When I saw the diving boards, I immediately
regretted not asking what was involved when Mary had first
asked.
“You’re going to dive off that one?” I asked
Sally and stared up some twenty or so meters to the top diving
platform. She looked as scared as me.
“Hello, are you Sally and Christian?” a
teenager in a bikini asked. “I’m Liza.”
My eyes fell on a light-brown-skinned figure
whose curves were at their maximum potential. Her breasts seemed
enormous and it took every bit of my self-control to pull away from
them and nod. Her narrow face was without blemish, the teeth under
her smile, perfect. My loins ached and I felt actual pain being
that close to her.
“This way,” she said placing her hands on me
and Sally. It was the first time I ever remember thinking how
horrible it was to be a kid. She took us to the shallow end and
helped us with dives from a kneeling position and then from
toe-touch positions. Every time she’d touch me, it was torment, but
I’d plenty of sneak-peaks at her breasts. That night as I cuddled
up against Sally’s skinny warm body, I imagined Liza.
The next day when I came downstairs, the
main floor of the mansion was decorated with balloons, paper masks,
and fresh flowers. A huge pi��ata hung from one of the arches. A
sign, the length of one wall had been hand-painted in pink and blue
by Sally, HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRISTIAN – WE LOVE YOU ! I’d forgotten
about it. I was nine years old. I lived in a mansion. Slept with a
beautiful girl. Was protected directly by an agent of Jesus. And
had the two most wonderful parents in the world. I couldn’t be
happier. That afternoon, my class-mates came to the Tappet mansion
for a party. Kurt and Andy also joined us. We played Pin the Tail
on the Donkey and smashed the piñata. The candy scattered
everywhere, and it was much fun.
“There’s a friend to see you,” Una said and
took me to the front foyer where Lloyd waited. She left us alone.
He’d grown his hair over his ears and it made him look like a girl,
but surprisingly, less threatening to me.
“I wanted to get you something for your
birthday,” he whispered, “and for helping me out with your
dad.”
I shrugged but took the gift, it was big,
and unwrapped it. It was a monopoly board-game. “Thanks, Lloyd. Is
everything okay?” He nodded. “Come on in,” I said. “It’s nearly
over, but there still lots of cake.”
I enrolled in piano lessons, and discovered
about myself that I’d no musical talent. I could play basketball,
swim and dive, do my studies, and convince everyone except Una that
I was pretty clever. I passed grade four with a string of A’s and B
pluses.
That summer of 1970, the family traveled to
Una’s cottage for three weeks. It was a complete shock to me she
even had one. No one had ever once mentioned it. In fact, Una owned
a whole lake, and it was the prettiest lake I’d ever imagined,
completely private, a wonderful place for Sally and I to be alone
with the loons and muskrats. The cottage, though all on one level,
was large and had many rooms. It was fully equipped with Factory
Bright appliances. Everyone was happy, especially me.
In grade five, I made the basketball teams’
second line, jumped off the highest diving platform at South Orange
Swimming Center without killing myself, reached grade two in piano
lessons, and bettered my final report-card with another A. I did
especially well in history with an A-plus. By then, taking off and
landing in the Cessna had become almost routine. All in all, I was
elated.
