(2005) Wrapped in Rain (38 page)

Pretty soon, I realized baseball just wasn't Rex's thing, so I developed secondary dreams. These dreams revolved around him asking me to join him in whatever he was doing. I told myself he was busy, powerful, wielded influence, that he had a lot going on. My secondary dreams looked like Rex asking me to help him muck the stalls, mow the grass, clean his shotguns, cook breakfast, chop wood, build a fire, groom the horses, go fishing, drive the tractor-anything-but Rex didn't do those things. He paid someone else to do it because he didn't care the first thing about them. Not doing those things allowed him to spend more time chasing Thomas Jefferson or his secretary or disassembling a sweat-equity, family-owned business in Decatur.

I'm not so poisoned that I can't see what a gift Rex had for making money. Everything he touched turned to gold. But the gold-touching secret would have been the last thing Rex would have ever shared with me. It was his secret, and he was quite happy to let it die with him which it will-because I was competition. His goal was plain and simple. Rex hired Katie's dad to get rid of Katie because having her near me made me happy. And if he wasn't going to be happy, then no one else was either.

Lastly, my dreams dwindled to fantasies of recognition. If Rex wasn't going to play catch with me in the rain, then he could have at least taken me by the hand, walked me through the front door of his skyscraper, patted me on the shoulder, and said, "Hello, Mr. So-and-So, I'd like for you to meet my son," let me stand on my toes and punch the elevator button for the top floor, parade me into his office, ask his secretary to bring him his coffee and a hot chocolate topped with little marshmallows he'd bought just for me, and then let me sit next to him while he made phone calls, attended meetings, or did something important. Because if I had been included in what was so allfired important, then maybe that would mean I was important too.

On the other hand, I didn't have to ask Miss Ella if she loved me. I knew. She told me every day but seldom used words. From the age of five, Miss Ella taught me how to spell love, and I've never forgotten it.

It's spelled T-I-M-E. And it's something Rex knew absolutely nothing about.

The look on jase's face told me he was suffering from the same dilemma. He was bored. By 9:00 a.m., he had ridden two hundred loops around the driveway and even started setting his own baseballs on the tee. He needed an activity.

Mutt, on the other hand, needed a total hygiene overhaul, but I didn't know how to tell him. His beard was going on two weeks, but he shook so badly he couldn't draw a straight line, and I didn't want to suggest he do it himself for fear that he'd slit his own throat. Rather than risk insulting him, I tried the end-around approach. Mutt was just getting dressed when I popped my head atop the ladder. "I thought maybe I'd get a haircut today. You want to tag along?"

jase heard me from the foot of the ladder and said, "I do. I want to go!" Mutt looked at me with curiosity. "What time?"

I shook my head and said, "Anytime."

Mutt looked around the barn like he was checking his internal calendar, looked at his left wrist where he had never worn a watch, and nodded. "Five minutes?"

"I'll be in the truck."

I dangled my keys at Katie, who ran her fingers through her short hair and smiled, "No thanks, I don't think I need Clopton's finest stylist touching my head."

"You want me to bring you a bottle of color?"

She rolled her eyes.

There's an old adage that says never let a bald barber cut your hair, because jealousy may set in. Peppy Parker is bald as a cue ball and always has been, but all of Clopton has filtered through his chair. He's a Clopton establishment all to himself. Not to mention his barbershop. For as long as I can remember, Peppy has worn dentures that look two sizes too big and cause him to whistle through his teeth. He's never without a dip of snuff and ushers a brass spittoon on the floor beneath his chair like a soccer ball as he works a circle around you.

At seventy-five, his bear paw hands are still rock-steady with a straight razor, he's a gentleman's gentleman who calls everyone by name, and he's never been in a hurry. He's also never dallied. "Time is money," and when he says that, he's talking about yours, not his. For all his adult life, Peppy has worked fifty weeks a year, given forty haircuts a week, and concluded every single one with a firm handshake and a "Good to see you. Tell your family I sent my best, and come back and see me." More than one hundred thousand haircuts, handshakes, and blessings.

I met Peppy twenty-six years ago when Rex pointed his finger in Miss Ella's face and said, "Sit there and tell Peppy to cut it short, high, and tight!" He did too, which meant that my head stayed cold from that day until I left for Georgia Tech. Since then, it's been a bit warmer. Rex would call my longer hair a rebellion, but Miss Ella liked to run her fingers through it. I figure Peppy has cut my hair an average of eight times a year, and each time, I've looked more forward to the next than I did the previous.

In cutting most of Glopton's hair, he's learned a good bit about everything and everybody. If you want gossip, go to The Banquet Cafe, but if you want the truth, go see Peppy.

Mutt, Jase, and I walked into Parker's Barbershop shortly after he opened at nine.

"Morning, Peppy," I said.

"Good morning, Tucker. How's the world traveler?" Peppy placed the kid's seat atop the adult armrests of his chair and dusted it with his apron. "And who is this young man?"

"Peppy, this is Jase Withers. A good friend of mine."

"Well"-Peppy patted Jase on the knee and handed him a piece of Double Bubble chewing gum-"any friend of Tucker's is a friend of mine." Jase smiled and stuffed the gum in his mouth. Peppy looked at me. "How's he like it?"

Before I had a chance to answer, Jase said, "Unca Tuck, I want it cut like you."

"What do you mean?"

"Like in that picture above the fireplace."

"Ohhhh." I squinted at him and thought about the ramifications of such a decision. "Little buddy, I'm not too sure your mama's going to like that."

"But you will."

Peppy looked at me with raised eyebrows and smiled. "It'll grow back. Every boy needs to be a boy. It's part of living."

"Yes sir, they do. And it will." I looked up at Peppy. "That'd be a number one."

Peppy clipped a number one comb on an old polished chrome buzzer and flicked it on. The buzzer spat, hiccupped, coughed, and gave up the ghost. "Well, after fourteen years"-Peppy shrugged-"it's about time." He unplugged it, rolled the cord around the end, and pitched it in the can. Without a second's hesitation, he pulled his newer, seven-year-old buzzer off the wall and began systematically buzzing the hair off Jase's head.

Mutt tapped me on the shoulder with a rubber-gloved hand, pointed to my pocket, and held out his hand. I gave him my Swiss Army knife and he dug the buzzer out of the trash can. While Peppy buzzed, Mutt tinkered.

Four minutes later, not one single hair on Jase's head was longer than half an inch, and I could almost hear Katie screaming in horror at the sight of her son. It was a glorious picture. Peppy clicked off the buzzer, ran his fingers beneath the wall-mounted machine that warmed the shaving cream, and began dabbing it on Jase's neck.

`lase, sit real still," I said with my hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Peppy here is giving you the works." Peppy stropped his straight razor about three licks and gently shaved the fuzz off Jase's neck. Peppy pulled off the apron and held up the mirror for Jase. He smiled earlobe to earlobe, his ears appeared to stick out wider, and his chest grew six sizes.

Mutt sat in Peppy's chair, and Peppy almost didn't recognize him. I didn't need to tell him the story. He already knew most of it. Peppy cut his hair, shaved his neck, and even shaved his face. When he finished, Mutt looked better than I'd seen him in a long time. Peppy dabbed both hands with a liberal dose of Clubman's aftershave and slapped it on Mutt's neck and cheeks.

Jase tugged on my pant leg. "Unca Tuck, what's that?"

"Oh, that's the real deal. That's Clubman's. You probably need some of that. I think your mom will really like it." I knew this was not true and that I had in fact just told a bold-faced lie, because no woman in the history of womanhood had ever liked Clubman's aftershave. Only men did, but I figured Jase didn't need to know this, and once Katie got over the shock of his total absence of hair and the accentuated Dumbo look of her son, she'd go along with it. Peppy wiped Jase's neck and face and even ran a little through his hair.

I glanced at Mutt, who was engrossed in the guts of the buzzer, which were spread out across the floor.

"Tuck." Peppy slapped his chair with his apron and blew off the remaining hair with a blow dryer. "How 'bout it? Have you come to your senses yet?"

"I thought maybe I'd just let you trim the edges."

"That's what I figured. Still rebelling, are you?"

"Something like that."

"Have a seat."

Peppy cut my hair and even managed to honor the trim rule. While I paid, Mutt replaced the last screw, walked over to Peppy's station, plugged the buzzer back in the wall, and sprayed down the back side with disinfectant spray. He clicked it on and held it to his ear. It looked and sounded brand-new. He handed it to Peppy and tried to force the words percolating in his brain down through his mouth. After a minute of struggling with his lips, he said, "F-f-f-fourteen years."

Peppy smiled. "Mutt, I've always preferred the feel of this one in my hand. Thank you." He put his hand on Mutt's shoulder. "It really is good to see you." Mutt blinked several times, and his eyes began darting back and forth. He fumbled with his hands, nodded, and finally shoved his left hand into his pocket, where it wrapped around whatever happened to be in there. I had a pretty good idea what it was.

The three of us walked out Peppy's door into the sunshine, where Jase reached up and grabbed both our hands. Mutt held Jase's hand out in front of him like a glass of water, afraid to spill any. An older lady, possibly in her late sixties, attractively dressed in a knee-length purple skirt and white top and carrying a black pocketbook, hobbled our way on two crutches. The crutches matched her skirt and shoe. I say "shoe" because that was her most distinguishing feature-she only had one leg. Jase watched her until she was directly in front of him. He let go of our hands and stood directly in front of the lady.

She stopped and said, "Well, hello, young man." Jase stooped, inched closer, leaned at the waist, and then just squatted on his heels so he could look directly up her skirt. It didn't faze her in the least. She laughed. "If you're looking for my leg, it's not there." I wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

"Well"-Jase looked again-"what happened to it?"

She looked down and smiled. "It got sick and the doctors had to cut it off."

"Will it grow back?"

I broke in. "Ma'am, I'm real sorry. He's just five and..."

She balanced on her crutches and gently placed her hand on my arm. "Son, I wish we all had so few inhibitions." Skillfully, she knelt down, squatting on her one heel, and looked in Jase's face. "No, it won't grow back, but that's okay. I have another one."

Jase nodded. "Oh. Well, okay."

I reached down, helped the lady stand, and nodded as she shuffled by.

Truly I say to you, unless you become like one of these ...

I herded Jase into the truck and tried to let the diesel drown out Miss Ella.

Tucker that's a brave little boy you got there. Not afraid of the truth.

I got a feeling you're about to make a point.

I was just wondering if you knew what you were doing.

Not really.

Well, from where I'm sitting, you look like you're giving a spelling lesson.

I parked the truck next to the barn and watched Jase run into Miss Ella's cottage without me. "Go ahead, buddy," I encouraged in a whisper, "she's going to love it." Jase ran inside, slammed the door, and two seconds later, I heard a bloodcurdling scream. That's when I started backpedaling to the house. Katie screamed again from inside the house. "Tucker Rain! If I live to be a hundred ..." I didn't wait to hear the rest. I hopped through the fence, tripped, and before I knew it, Katie was on top of me. She pounced hard and fast, surprising me how someone so slender could be so strong. I started laughing so hard I couldn't talk. Katie had pinned my hands to the ground and had her knees digging into my rib cage. "Tucker, you had no right to do that."