A Question of Manhood (18 page)

Feeling irritated and not knowing why, I said, “I thought you'd gone to lunch.”

“Oh, sorry. I thought Mr. Landon wanted to talk to both of us. I'll go now.” And he did.

“Anything else?” I asked Dad, probably sounding a little belligerent.

Dad's jaw worked for a second or two. “We'd better not lose any of those fish. I'd like you to spot Alice on register three so she can have lunch now. You can go when she gets back. And tell JJ not to do any tanks without you. He can go back to cat food while you eat.”

Dad's lunch was already on his desk. He ate in the office where he could keep an eye on the registers and watch how the cashiers treated customers. On one hand, I was pissed that I had to wait for lunch. On the other, it was a nice day, and I wanted to eat outside, but I wasn't sure I wanted JJ thinking of me as his best buddy, so I didn't want to set a lunch hour precedent and eat with him.

I sent Alice, who was probably fifteen and at least twice that many pounds overweight, to have lunch. It was fairly busy and I didn't pay a lot of attention to the time, but Alice returned in just under half an hour, right on time. JJ was with her. They were laughing like best friends. I gave JJ his orders and left.

Close call, I thought as I grabbed the lunch Mom had packed for me. I might have had to sit with
both
of them if Dad had taken the register, which he sometimes does. I chose a table and sat with my back to the door. I was mostly done with lunch when I saw two figures coming around the side of the building. Marty and Kevin.

“Hey, Landon!” Marty called in hushed tones. “They let you outside to eat? Aren't they afraid you'll make a break for it?” He and Kevin cackled.

Kevin stole one of my store-bought cookies and sat down across from me. Beside him, Marty lit a cigarette. Wishing I could bum one but knowing I'd be dead if Dad caught me, I pulled my food closer to my side of the table out of Kevin's reach. “What are you guys up to today? Dragging old ladies across the wrong intersections?”

Marty smiled expansively. “It's such a gorgeous day, we thought we'd go skinny-dipping at the woods end of Parson's Lake. Wanna come?”

“You know I would. Gotta stay here though, and you know that, too.”

“Grumpy, isn't he?” Kevin asked Marty.

Marty made a face. “He's always like this at work, aren't you, Paul? Hey, here's a thought.” He pointed with his cigarette to the side of the building, toward the garden hose that we kept wrapped around an old truck wheel, mounted on the wall, for cleaning the rodent cages, used dog kennels and cat carriers, that sort of thing. “How about if we just squirt you with that for a few minutes? You could even strip first!”

I decided against any reply to that ridiculousness, but I was ready to make a run for it if Marty showed signs of being serious. He didn't. We sat there a few more minutes trading barbs and generally saying nothing in particular, and then Marty, who was facing the building, looked up. His expression was weird, so I turned to look over my shoulder. It was JJ. He'd seen Marty, too, and had stopped in his tracks, eyes locked on him.

“What is it?” I called to him.

He stayed where he was, even though he had to raise his voice a little from that distance, and his eyes moved to me. “Your father wanted us to finish today's tank cleaning.” And he waited.

In the back of my mind it occurred to me that he didn't say anything like “Your dad sent me to get you” or “Your dad says lunchtime is over and to get back to work.”

“Be right there.” I watched him turn and head back inside, and when I was facing the remains of my lunch again I saw Marty's gaze was still on the door JJ had gone through. “What's with you?” I asked.

His eyes snapped to mine. “Nothin'. Just wondering if it might be time for a little mollification.” He sucked on his cig as he gave me this significant look.

I turned again to look at the doorway—stupid, since there was nobody there—and back to Marty again. I knew he was referring to Anthony the math nerd and the time we'd made him tell us he was queer. “You're crazy. You think every guy who isn't like you is automatically a homo.”

He flicked some ash and said, “Am I wrong about this one? You sure?” His voice told me he was sure of his own assessment. “And can you afford to make a mistake here?”

I knew what he meant, but I didn't want to admit it. Even from here you could tell that JJ had a sweet face, and he wasn't very big. Dressed right, he could pass for a girl. All I said was, “What's the worst that can happen?”

Marty inhaled on the cig, waited, exhaled at me, and said, “You don't wanna go and get painted with that brush, kid.” And then laughed insanely. “Get it? You could get painted with the
pink
brush if you get painted with
his
brush!” and he jabbed with his cigarette toward the door JJ had gone through. Brush. Dagger. I knew what Marty was referring to. But I was still angry with myself for letting him talk me into our little escapade into the red-light district. Time to stand up to him, at least a little.

“Yeah, yeah. You're a real comic, Kaufman. I don't give a fuck whether the kid's a fag or not, and if you try painting me with
any
brush we'll have us a real conversation.”

Marty raised an eyebrow. “Ooh, Kevin, did you hear that? Have I struck a nerve in our
pet
store boy?”

Kevin grinned at me like he didn't take Marty quite as seriously as I did. “I don't think we have to worry about Landon.” He turned toward Marty. “After all, wasn't he the only one who did that hooker last spring? Seems to me you got some proving to do yourself.”

Marty shoved Kevin sideways, nearly off the seat, and Kevin laughed.

I stood up, deciding not to give this conversation any more weight than it deserved. “I gotta get back in or my old man will have a shit fit. See you guys later.”

Despite what I'd said to Marty? About not caring if JJ was a fag? I cared. I cared a lot. And I was a little shocked that it hadn't occurred to me. Now I was pretty sure Marty was right.

That afternoon, JJ and I worked on the last two tanks together so Dad wouldn't have any excuses to criticize, both of us talking as little as possible, and I held my hands carefully away from JJ's. Once they touched and I jerked back without really meaning to. I know he noticed, 'cause he froze for a second or two.

I had to talk more while I showed him how to change the filters on tanks one through five, but he said practically nothing. He caught on to the process just as fast as ever, but the brightness was gone. I couldn't say whether I missed his voice because the contrast with the morning was so obvious or because I'd started to like him. I had to watch that, though, didn't I? Wouldn't do to get painted.

That night I lay awake a long time. There were so many similarities between how I was feeling now and how I'd felt about torturing Anthony. I hadn't done anything to JJ, and neither had Marty, but the list of things that were alike was pretty impressive, anyway.

• 1. Anthony had been afraid of Marty even before we tortured him. It sure looked like JJ was afraid of him, too; he'd stayed as far away from my lunch table as he could. In fact, he'd seemed afraid even of me at first this morning; when he'd seen my sneaker he'd gone as still as a rabbit hoping a hawk wouldn't see him.
  
• 2. It hadn't been my idea to treat Anthony like that, and I hadn't thought about JJ being gay. I guess I'll never know if Marty was right about Anthony, but he's sure painting both of them with the same “pink” brush.
  
• 3. Both Anthony and JJ are smart and aren't afraid to show it, even if they are afraid of other things. That's a kind of courage.
  
• 4. Just like Anthony hadn't ever ratted on me, JJ didn't embarrass me in front of Marty by making it sound like my dad was yelling at me for taking too long at lunch.
  
• 5. I don't remember ever liking Anthony, but I sure didn't like what Marty and I did to him. Chris's reaction had certainly put the seal on my self-condemnation. If Marty tried to do something like that to JJ I'd feel even worse. I wouldn't need Chris around to make me feel like shit, but it would feel like he was watching anyway.
  
• 6. And now the sixty-four-million-dollar question. Had I gone along with Marty in torturing Anthony just so Marty wouldn't terrorize me? And what would I do if he decided to terrorize JJ?
  

I had a nasty dream that night about this hideous skin disease. Chris was in the dream, and he had it, and every time I got near him it felt like some of it would show up on me, but I could never see it on myself.

 

JJ was there ahead of me again on Tuesday, even though I was a little early myself. He was helping Dad, who was up on a stool, stack the heavier bags of dry dog food in the stockroom.

“Paul, help JJ finish this lot. Then I want you both to man register four. Show JJ how to open it up. He already knows how to make change. I want him to work directly with customers today.”

“Got it.” I was taller than JJ, so when Dad got off the stool I got onto it. JJ didn't speak, and neither did I. After a few minutes of doing my best to make my part, which was harder than his, look easy, I felt like a stupid little kid; JJ didn't look like he was trying to prove anything.

Register four was the one closest to Dad's office. I took JJ through the opening routines, and it seemed to me that he was being real careful, in that cramped space where we both had to stand, not to touch me anyplace. It made me feel kind of guilty about the way I'd reacted yesterday when our hands touched, and it made me start to like him again.

Liking him lasted only about forty-five minutes. He was doing fine ringing things up and making change, and he was friendly with the customers without being inefficient. And then Mrs. Soper was there with that mutt of hers that looks like it's part wheaten terrier and part Chihuahua, it's so funny looking, and as usual it was yapping and jumping and generally ignoring anything she said to it.

“Lulu, please! Let Mommy get her wallet out so she can pay for the things she's bought for you.”

“Lulu, hush. Don't be so impatient.”

“Lulu, how many times do I have to tell you not to bark at everyone?”

It was always a challenge dealing with her, because even though Lulu paid no attention to her, Mrs. Soper paid all kinds of attention to Lulu and not enough to the business at hand. Plus she was probably in her sixties and did everything kind of slow, anyway. The two customers behind were getting irritated, and only one other register was open at the moment.

I had started to bag things, but Mrs. Soper still had items in her cart, so JJ couldn't ring them up. I might have reached for some of them myself, but JJ was in my way, just staring at the dog. Before I could move around the counter and start pulling things out of the cart, JJ reached into a bag I'd just loaded and pulled out a red strap leash.

He asked, “Is this leash for Lulu?” When Mrs. Soper said it was, he walked around the counter to where Lulu was still dancing on two legs, scratching at the side of the counter with her front paws, yipping hysterically. “Is it okay with you if I try to calm her down?”

“Oh, anything you can do!”

JJ ran the hook end of the leash through the circle of the handle so it made a kind of slipknot. He never spoke to the dog or petted it or anything. He leaned over and slipped the loop over Lulu's head. Then he released the other leash from the collar and handed it to Mrs. Soper, so the red one was the only one on Lulu. JJ positioned the loop just behind Lulu's ears, stepped a little away from the counter with the leash hanging loose from his hand to her neck, and he called her, slapping his leg. She eyed him a few seconds and then went to him. He let her sniff his legs but didn't touch her or speak to her, and then he moved his hand up along the leash until it was almost but not quite tight from Lulu's neck to his hand.

They stood like that for several seconds, and I walked around the counter to Mrs. Soper, who was watching JJ intently. I said, “I'm going to ring the rest of this up, if that's okay.”

She said nothing, so I took over for JJ. I glanced up toward Dad's office, expecting that he'd be watching, and he was. But the other thing I'd expected—that he'd be disapproving of what JJ was doing and glad to see I'd taken initiative—wasn't how it looked. He was watching JJ as intently as Mrs. Soper was.
It won't be long before Dad comes to his senses.
I started ringing in the stuff I'd taken from the cart.

Meanwhile Lulu had got onto her hind legs and was beginning to paw at JJ's knees. He stepped away and yanked once on the leash, gently but noticeably, and he said, “Hey,” really short and sharp. Lulu sat down at his feet. He waited, not looking at her. She jumped again, and again he jerked the leash and said, “Hey.”

I'd finished ringing things up by now, and although the customers behind were undoubtedly glad Lulu wasn't making a fuss anymore, one of them was preparing to move to the other register, something Dad really hates to see, 'cause it means our customer service wasn't what it should have been.

Trying to get Mrs. Soper's attention so I could tell her the total, I saw her gaze turn to watch Dad, coming from his office. He was headed toward JJ, but he stopped at the end of my counter to watch.

Making an effort to keep from sounding annoyed, I said, “That's fourteen-oh-seven, Mrs. Soper.”

“What? Oh, thank you, young man.” She handed me a twenty, and I had to get her attention again so I could give her the change. But then she just stood there, watching JJ, the cart smack in the way of the next customer. I leaned over and pushed it along a little, and Mrs. Soper got the hint.

By the time I'd rung up the next customer's items, I had to get
his
attention, too; he was also watching the dog show. JJ had Lulu following him peacefully, not jumping, not yipping. He walked back and forth along the front of the store a few times, and when he headed back toward Mrs. Soper, several people applauded. JJ looked around, startled.