A Question of Manhood (17 page)

Who's Eric?

I was about to reach for the doorknob when someone bounded up the hall toward me. It was a guy the same size and shape as the man she'd stopped to talk to on the sidewalk. The word “Protection” flashed through my mind.

“Marty!” I yelled. “Get out!”

Next thing I knew I was thrown so hard against the wall I think the impression of my body must still be there. The door flew open and Marty bounded out.

“I'm gone!” he shouted. “I'm gone!” Eric did the same thing to him he'd done to me. I grabbed Marty and we stumbled down the hall, practically falling down the flight of stairs as he mumbled, “Why the fuck didn't I bring the gun?” We'd nearly made it when I heard Eric gaining on us. He must have stopped just long enough to find out from the girl what the problem was.

We headed toward the Mustang for all we were worth, but of course Marty had locked it. He fumbled for his keys, but Eric got there before he could unlock the door, and he slammed Marty against the car. I took one look at Eric and knew that even together Marty and I couldn't take him. I ran into the street and started shouting. I'm not sure now what I said, maybe “Help!” and “Police!” Who knows what I yelled. I could hear Eric working Marty over behind me, thudding sounds and grunts, and then nothing but footsteps.

I went back to Marty. He'd fallen on the ground, his face bleeding, conscious but unable to speak. Suddenly headlights shone full on him, and I could see that his face wasn't that bad. Probably his ribs took the worst of it.

The headlights belonged to a police car.

My first thought was
Thank God
. My second was
Shit
. Two cops walked slowly toward us, guns drawn. For all they knew, I'd been involved in getting Marty beat up. I'd never been so scared in my life.

“Hands on your head and stand up!” one of them shouted at me. I did, but my knees were shaking so hard I wasn't sure I could stay on my feet. One of the cops held his gun on me while the other felt around me for weapons, I guess. Or a wallet, which I didn't have on me. He made me lean against the car while he reached into my pockets.

“No ID? What's your name, kid?”

The rest of that evening is a bit of a blur. I managed to blurt out that a large man had beaten my friend. I tried like hell to avoid saying why, but in the search the cop had found my unused condom, and then of course Marty had some. He'd recovered well enough to be able to speak, but he kept insisting he wouldn't say anything.

At the station house, they took Marty and me to separate rooms and kept hammering me with questions. Finally they got out of me who I was. One guy left the room to call my folks, though I didn't know it yet. The only thing I can say for myself is that I didn't cave until my dad got there. Then it all came out. It felt kind of like the day I'd had to tell him about Chris getting killed, when I could be strong as long as Dad wasn't there. But once he was, it was like he uncorked something, like I'd been given sodium pentothal, and I spilled my guts. At least I didn't cry this time.

Marty wasn't seriously hurt, and amazingly I didn't get the belt as a result of this little adventure. But I also didn't get to ask Jenny out again. Dad made me quit my job at Burger King. He took my driver's license and my bank passbook away. And I got grounded for the rest of the school year, telephone privileges revoked, TV time severely curtailed. Plus, I had to work at the store on weekends. His store.

I spent a lot of time over the next couple of months feeling sorry for myself. Sometimes I blamed Marty, first for his bright idea, then for being idiot enough to think I'd pay for him even if he had told me to, which he hadn't, then for trying to cheat the prostitute. Sometimes I blamed Dad for making me feel like some stupid little kid when what I'd really done was become a man; even the prostitute had said so. Sometimes I blamed myself for being such an idiot, for not knowing that I could get into a shitload of trouble for something stupid when I could have just kept my head down and let Jenny be my first time. For letting Marty talk me into doing it in the first place.

Sometimes I blamed my mom, not so much because of what happened, but because of her reaction to it: “Your brother would
never
have done anything like this!” To which I nearly responded,
You bet your ass he wouldn't. He was queer. He'd have done something worse
. And in there someplace was more blame for her because she needed me to be Chris.

And sometimes I blamed Chris.

I'd sit at my desk, supposedly doing schoolwork, and stare out onto the street. I memorized the branch pattern of the tree in front of our house. I could tell you exactly what time the streetlights started to come on, predicting changes as the days got longer. And I'd think about Chris, and it seemed to me now that maybe once upon a time he'd had to be so good to make up for the bad things I did, and now I had to be a man to make up for him being queer. I blamed him for letting Dad force him into a situation where he ended up dead and leaving me to deal with the mess. And I blamed him for making me keep his secrets. Hell, for just
having
secrets.

And I blamed him for pretending to be the man Dad wanted me to be.

Grade-wise, I scraped by. Mr. Treadwell and I had a couple of little talks, with him trying to find out what was wrong and me sure as hell I wasn't going to reveal anything. What business was it of his, anyway? Who was he to me? He wasn't even a guidance counselor. Sure, he'd been decent, but I'd
earned
that B in history last semester. Maybe I was barely earning a C now, but that was up to me. He kept trying to tell me that college would be—what were his words? an unfulfilled dream, I think—if I couldn't get my grades up. I made a bit of an effort toward the end and did well enough on finals to avoid disgracing myself altogether, but it was not gonna be Harvard or Princeton for me in a year. As long as I could go
someplace
. Get away from here.

Marty and I managed to recover our friendship, such as it was, at school. He finally agreed—much to my surprise—that maybe he hadn't been clear about my paying for his romp in the hay, and after trying to make it my fault that the police had shown up he admitted that I couldn't have known that we wouldn't end up needing any assistance, or that Eric would just get in a few licks and leave, so even though he caught hell at home for his part in our evening out, he was kind of used to that. Plus he liked making a show of how little it meant to him to have his father mad at him.

On weekends, at the store, Dad and I talked only as much as we had to. He told me to stack the dog food bags, and that's what I did. He told me to take inventory of the angelfish, and that's what I did. I got a tiny salary, which he put directly into the bank account I couldn't get at. I couldn't bring myself to speak much to him at home either, and I sure as hell wasn't gonna ride with him in his car to work and back, so I rode my bike, rain or shine.

Every once in a while Marty and Kevin would stop in, but unless they showed up on Sunday, Dad's day off, he usually sent them packing. Once I didn't know they were there until I heard Marty's voice shouting, “It's a free country!”

Just before school ended, Dad informed me that I'd have to work at the store all summer, and not just on weekends. I nearly threw a fit, but I was pretty beaten down by then and didn't really have the energy. He also told me I'd have to train the new guy, some kid named JJ O'Neil who'd just graduated high school with all kinds of honors and was headed to Cornell in the fall. Just my kind of guy. I'd seen kids streaming in and out of Dad's office, interviewing for summer jobs, but I hadn't paid much attention.

Sure enough, on the first Monday after school let out for the summer, when I got to work JJ was already there. Brownnoser, I thought to myself, showing up earlier than me on his first day, and it wasn't like I was late. He was already destined for greatness, according to my dad, so what did he have to prove? Worse still, Dad had made me come in on Monday, which was going to be my one day of the week off, just to train the guy.

I wheeled my bike through the rear entrance that leads into the stockroom, pushed through the heavy door into the store, braced myself for the wave of smells—bird shit, dog pee covered by antiseptic, fish algae, hamster cage, and two or three things I couldn't quite name and didn't really want to—and there he was, hunched over and labeling cans of cat food. All I could see was his back covered by a white short-sleeved shirt and really dark hair on his head. I ignored him.

First thing I did was try and scout Dad out and avoid him, so that as long as possible I could also avoid him telling me to work with the kid. I listened carefully outside the office door, near the front of the store, and it seemed Carol was in there on the phone. I peeked around the corner. She saw me and beckoned me in while she finished her conversation. I waited patiently. She'd kept on being decent to me, even though I'd bet anything Dad had told her exactly what had happened, why I was suddenly working at the store, and why there was so much dead air between us.

“Hey, Paul. Did you meet JJ yet?” I shook my head, afraid of what I was about to hear. “You're in for a treat. He's a great kid. Smart, too. Your dad's got him doing cat food at the moment, but he said if I saw you first—stop me if you've seen your dad—that you were to introduce yourself and show him how to clean the fish tanks. Do you want to go find JJ, or shall I come with you?”

Oh well. Guess there's no avoiding the kid
. “No, I'll find him, thanks. Um, why are you in today? Don't you have Mondays off?”

“Just here for the morning, to get the paperwork for the summer help in order.” She gestured toward a couple of folders on the desk. I knew they would contain whatever was needed by way of personnel records. “And you? Don't you have Mondays off, too? It's the slowest day of the week.”

“Dad wanted me to be here for JJ's first day. Um, by the way, what's with the name?”

“Hmmm?”

“What does ‘JJ' stand for?”

“I don't remember.” She waved a hand, smiled, and then bent over something on the desk. It seemed kind of unlikely she'd have forgotten already—she was working with the personnel files, after all—but I turned and left, wondering what the big secret might be.

JJ was still where I'd seen him, whipping price tags onto the cans like he'd done it all his life. It wasn't a tough job, I don't mean that, but there's a rhythm you get into that takes a little practice. Practice he obviously didn't need.

I stood next to him a minute, waiting to see if he'd notice me. When he saw my sneaker he froze, almost like he was bracing himself for something. Slowly he stood, still looking wary. He tossed the gun into his left hand and looked up at me. He may have been a year older than me, but he was probably two inches shorter. His eyes were really dark, almond shaped, and his features were a little delicate. Almost pretty. Skin was slightly dark. It wasn't tanned, exactly, but it had color to it. He looked a little exotic, or something.

When I figured I'd left a little bit of an impression I held out my right hand, and we shook. “I'm Paul Landon.”

“JJ O'Neil.”

“Yeah, I know.” I pointed to the labeler. “You used one of those before?”

He kept his eyes on my face, almost like he could read my intentions there and didn't want to miss anything. He nodded. “I've worked in food stores, supermarkets, most summers.”

Which explains
that,
anyway
. I nodded, barely making note of the slight lilt to his speech. “Dad asked me to show you how to clean fish tanks.”

He smiled then, finally, and his face changed from wary to…I dunno, maybe bright? I couldn't help but smile back. He said, “Great! I want to learn about fish and amphibians. They're the animals I know least about. Is now okay with you, or should I go on with this for a while?”

At least he understood the pecking order here. Maybe I was in disgrace, but JJ wouldn't know that, and I was still the owner's son. “Why don't we go ahead and get started? I'll help you stack the cans you've labeled already.”

As we walked toward the amphibian area he said, “Mr. Landon said you knew practically everything there is to know about the store. I hope you don't mind if I ask lots of questions.”

It took me a few seconds to recover from JJ's first statement. Dad said something complimentary about me? And to someone else? Then I wondered why JJ was already so full of questions. “No problem. Are you planning to have a store one day yourself?”

He laughed, and it had a nice sound. “No, probably not. I want to work with animals. Maybe I'll be a vet someday. That would be my dream job.”

“So why are you so interested in this store?”

“Oh, I'm interested in anything having to do with animals, and with people who love them. Your father seems like a real animal lover.”

This took me a little aback. “This is your first day, right? How do you know how my dad feels about animals?” We were standing at the tanks by now, but I wanted to hear what JJ's answer would be, beyond the obvious; I mean, why would someone who didn't like animals have a pet supply store, anyway?

“Oh, we had a great talk when I was here for my interview a few weeks ago. I know he likes black Labradors best, even though some other breeds are smarter. And that he doesn't much like cats, which I think is too bad. It's just that they're different from dogs. People who like dogs often think cats are disloyal, but it's only that they aren't pack animals and don't develop bonds in the same way dogs do. Dogs live by social hierarchy. Cats live by rules and routines. I guess your mom is allergic, huh?”

I wanted to dislike the guy. He was showing off by getting here early, he'd already figured out that my dad's favorite dog was something other than what I thought it was, 'cause I'd assumed Dad liked the smarter dogs best, and he was giving me a lecture on animal behavior. Plus, he already knew something about my mom. Under normal circumstances, all this together would have more than wiped out how good I'd felt a few minutes ago when he'd passed on that compliment Dad had never seen fit to say directly to me, and I'd hate his guts. But he seemed so…I don't know, there was something about him that seemed beyond calm, almost removed, like even though he knew all this stuff, he didn't pretend it gave him some kind of edge. I would have had to talk myself into believing that he was trying to puff himself up even, let alone wanting to be on some kind of par with me. All I said was, “Yeah. She is. Listen, let's get started here.”

I took him first to the schedule posted in the stockroom behind the tanks. “We don't try to do all the tanks at once. Each tank has a number, and it corresponds to this chart.” I was about to go over what had been done last, but instead I asked, “Can you tell what we should be working on today?”

JJ took about five seconds to figure this out. “Number eleven today, right? Wait…eleven through fifteen.”

I nodded. Didn't want to give him too much encouragement. “And can you tell what we need to do to them?” Ha. That will take a little more—

“Looks like we're cleaning these, and then we replace the filters in tanks one through five.” He turned to face me. “Why is that? Why won't we—”

“Fish tanks have beneficial bacteria in them that do stuff like remove ammonia and other toxins the filters don't get all of. Some of this bacteria is in the filters. When we clean a tank, we replace about twenty percent of the water, which takes away some of the bacteria. So we wait to replace the filter—”

“…so you don't deplete the environment of the bacteria! Of course. And do you replace only part of the water for the same reason?”

I let a beat or two go by. I don't like being interrupted. “That, plus it's a lot of stress on the fish to change their entire environment all at once. And if we want another reason, it's so we don't have to take the fish out of the tank to clean it.”

“Brilliant!” He beamed at me like it had been my idea. “Should the new water be warmed?”

I could tell it would be tough to keep this kid under control. I didn't want him thinking he was so smart that he'd go off half-cocked and ruin something. Dad prided himself in doing a better job than any other place he knew of to maintain the fish tanks; it's time-consuming work, and most places do the bare minimum. If JJ ruined something here, or killed fish, it would be my ass, not his. I said, “Let's go one step at a time. And just so you know, the freshwater fish are less fussy about water temperature than the tropicals, but they all prefer as little change as possible.”

I cleaned tank eleven while he watched. I told him how important it was to avoid even a trace of soap, and how the cleaning tools we use are for glass. Acrylic tanks need different tools. At one point I asked him, “So, why this store and not a pet store? I mean, if it's the animals that interest you.”

“This might sound strange, but you get to see more animals here. People don't usually bring their own pets into a pet store, so the only animals I'd see would be the ones for sale. They're often not in great health, and I can't do anything about that yet.”

Good answers. I wondered if he had an answer for everything—it sure seemed like it so far—but I decided not to test things any further just yet.

We did tank twelve together, and JJ practically insisted on doing thirteen alone. It was nearly lunchtime, and I'd been thinking we'd break first. “You sure you wanna do that?” I asked him. “That's an unlucky number for your first solo.”

He laughed. “Oh, I like the number thirteen. Maybe because so many other people don't.”

I watched him like a hawk, and although I had to step in a couple of times, he did most everything exactly as I had. Partway through Dad showed up. He stood there a minute watching and then said, “Paul, you and JJ break for lunch after this one. And I need to talk to you in my office.”

I didn't much like the tone of his voice. Had I done something wrong already? JJ and I finished up, and he didn't need to be told that everything had to go back into the stockroom. I said, “Did you bring lunch?” He nodded. “There's some picnic tables out back, if you want to eat outside.” He smiled at me and nodded again, and I headed toward the office.

Dad was alone in there, and he launched right in. “Paul, what do you think you're doing, having JJ do a tank alone so soon? He could—”

“He got it, Dad. He was really sure of what he was doing, and he understood the process.”

Dad was opening his mouth, a scowl on his face, about to scold me some more, when JJ spoke up from behind me. “I'm really sorry, Mr. Landon. I shouldn't have been so ambitious. It was my idea to do it on my own, not Paul's. He tried to discourage me. If there's a problem, it's my fault.”

Dad stood there and blinked a few times. “Well. I guess we'll know there's a problem if the fish start going belly up.” He didn't sound so fierce now, and for one eerie moment there it seemed almost like old times, with Chris talking Dad down off of whatever hill he'd climbed to throw stones at me. I snapped myself out of it by turning to look at JJ, confirming for myself that he wasn't anything like Chris.