Crusader (21 page)

I followed the kid back to the group of football players. He said, "Any of you named Hugh Mason?"

Hawg looked up and said, "Yeah. Who wants to know?"

I was surprised. I was surprised to hear that Hawg had a real name, and that Hugh Mason was it.

"The two of you have to go to guidance."

"What for?"

"I don't know."

Hawg shrugged and got up. On the way out, he said to me, "I guess anything's better than listening to Mr. Homo."

I followed Hawg and the boy into the corridor. I found myself walking next to Hawg, so I took the opportunity to say, "Can I ask you something?"

"Will I know the answer?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Then shoot."

"Why do you football guys take journalism?"

"That's an easy one. The guys on the team, the ones that took it last year, recommended it highly. They said you don't even put out a damn newspaper."

"That's true. But things are different this year. Mr. Herman is a much tougher teacher."

"Yeah, well, that's just my luck."

"What'd he put on your progress report?"

"My what?"

"Your progress report. It comes out halfway through the term? It tells you what grade you have?"

"Is that what that paper was? Hell, I threw it away."

When we got to the guidance office, Mrs. Biddulph handed me a clear plastic cup with a label on the side and a lid on the top. She said, "Take this black pen and write your full name on the label. Take the cup into the bathroom, fill it to the label with urine, secure the lid tightly, and leave it on the tray in there. Then wash your hands and go back to class."

Hawg added, "I hope you drank your orange juice this mornin'."

I started toward the bathroom and heard Mrs. Biddulph say to him, "All right, Hugh. You are here as a callback. Do you know what that means?"

I locked the bathroom door and carefully followed all the instructions. By the time I had washed and dried my hands and opened the door, Hawg's mood had turned angry. He was practically yelling at Mrs. Biddulph. "What? It took you two damn weeks to find one micromilligram?"

"Young man, watch your language, please."

Hawg struggled to control his temper. "Listen, ma'am. I don't smoke no damn reefer. I hate that stuff. That stuff ruined my mama's life."

Mrs. Biddulph said, "I am only telling you the result of the test. The rest is up to Mr. Archer. You can explain the situation to him."

"No, I'm gonna explain it to you right now, 'cause now I got her all figured out. Here's what happened. I rode home from practice with a buncha Florida boys, and one of them lit up a damn marijuana cigarette in the car. I didn't have nothin' to do with it. I was just sitting there breathing the damn air, and that's the god's honest truth."

Mrs. Biddulph said, "You'll have your chance to speak to Mr. Archer."

"You talkin' about the principal? Or Archie?"

"The principal."

"Damn."

"And please watch your language in here."

Mrs. Biddulph handed us each a guidance pass. Hawg and I walked back to class together, but he didn't say a word. I risked a quick sideways glance on the stairs. 1 couldn't tell for sure, but he appeared to have tears in his eyes.

I was hurrying through the rotunda at four o'clock when I spotted Uncle Frank. I couldn't believe my eyes. He was standing there talking to Devin. They looked like one of Suzie's Before and After poses.

When I got into Arcane, Dad was alone behind the register. I asked him, "Where's Kristin?"

He said, "I don't know, honey. I think they're doing something mysterious in the back."

"Who?"

"The two girls."

I walked back through the empty aisles and opened the office door. Kristin's voice yelled, "Who's that?"

I said, "It's me."

Nina answered, "Oh, good, Roberta, get in here."

I peered into the bathroom at the two of them. Kristin had her blouse unbuttoned. She was twisted around, trying to see her own back in the mirror.

Nina ordered, "Come in here and lock the door, Roberta. Now, tell me, what's that look like to you?"

I stared at Kristin's back and saw two circular red splotches behind her bra strap, like a pair of quarters. I said, "A rash?"

Nina agreed. "Yeah, that's it. You got some kinda rash goin' here."

Kristin was upset. "What are you talking about? A rash? What does that mean?"

I added, "Like a poison-ivy rash."

Nina smiled evilly. "Yeah, that's it. Looks like you've been rolling around outside with your blouse off, in some poison ivy."

Kristin snapped at her, "Shut up, Nina. What is it really?"

Nina said, "I'm not the doctor. We could ask my father, but he's at the Sunrise office today."

Kristin rebuttoned her blouse. Then we all piled out of the bathroom and went out front. Kristin told me, "I need to find my dad. Right away."

I heard Hawg and Ironman coming toward me from the SpecialTees side of the store. Hawg was deep into an explanation of his trip to the guidance office. They came to a stop in front of the counter, so he included me in it. "Hey, you know them boys I was riding with after practice? They was already called down for RDT the first week of school. So they knew they wasn't gonna be called again for the rest of the year. Hell, half the football team's already been called down—now they can do whatever the hell they want.

"Then, to top her all off, Mr. Homo gave me an F on that progress-report thing. Damn guidance mailed a copy of it to my house. Archie told me Mr. Homo failed the whole damn offensive line. But I'm the only one who had an F from him and a damn RDT report, so I'm the one they're trying to kick off the team."

Even Ironman looked shocked. He actually said something. "What are you going to do?"

"If they don't keep me on that team, I'll tell you what I'm gonna do, I'm goin' back up to Georgia."

I suggested, "Can't your father—I mean your stepfather—talk to Mr. Archer?"

"Sure he can, but he won't. I went home and told him the truth about them Florida boys and their reefer in the car. And he knows it's the truth. He knows I don't mess with no drugs. But he won't do a damn thing about it. So I told him, 'That's it. I'm goin' back up to Georgia. I'm gonna go play at my old high school up there, where they don't make you piss in no damn cup.'"

I said, "Well, you're only a junior. Can't you just wait and play next year?"

"Next year!" Hawg looked at me in amazement, like I had suggested something truly and impossibly bizarre. "There ain't no next year. I'm in my prime now, girl. I am college draft material right now. I aim to play football now, or die tryin'."

Suddenly Kristin, followed by Uncle Frank, hurried into the arcade. Uncle Frank announced, "I'm taking Kristin to the walk-in clinic." They continued on to the back. We didn't see them again after that.

At seven o'clock I took a break and walked up to the mall office. I opened the door as Suzie was telling Dad, "I've checked and rechecked the fountain. It's ready to go. I have Gene appearing as Toby the Turtle. Kids will like that. I have Channel Fifty-seven and Channel Three coming, and a reporter from the
Atlantic News.
"

Dad threw out his hands. "So now you can relax. You're ready."

Suzie shook her head angrily, flopping her blond bangs. "That Mr. Knowlton can be very rude. Let me tell you something—I've only known him for a month, and I've already had it up to here with his faxes, and his phone calls, and his FedEx deliveries. I'm doing everything I can for 'the candidate.'"

Dad said, "I know you are."

The door opened behind me, and Suzie's face lit up with a smile. She cried out, "Mr. Knowlton! So good to see you."

Philip Knowlton entered and set a leather briefcase on the floor. He appeared to be about forty, although his bald head made it difficult to tell. He was mostly thin, except for a very unhealthy-looking stomach protruding over his belt. He looked around the office without actually seeming to see us.

Once she realized he wasn't going to say anything, Suzie continued, "We're all ready to go on our end."

Mr. Knowlton finally looked at her. "That's good. We have six days until the candidate appears. How big a crowd are you expecting?"

"Probably about a hundred people."

"Demographics?"

"Pardon me?"

"What kind of people will make up this crowd?"

Suzie seemed confused. "Shoppers, mostly."

Knowlton pursed his lips. He spoke more slowly. "Old shoppers? Young shoppers? Males? Females? Middle class? Upper middle?"

"Oh, I'd say young females and their kids. Mostly middle class. Maybe some retired people."

Knowlton actually smiled at that. "You're kidding? Retired people? In South Florida?"

Dad and Suzie laughed.

"I want to do a man-in-the-street ad for Mr. Lyons. I'll need a young person, an old person, and some sort of minority."

Suzie assured him, "No problem." She looked over at me. "We'll get Roberta here, old Lombardo, and, uh, Sam. Sam's an Arab."

"Fine. And how exactly are you going to attract this crowd?"

Suzie had an idea. "Tell you what—I'll show you how exactly." She picked up the phone, dialed a number, and said,
"Gene? It's Suzie. Can you come to the mall office right away? There's somebody here I'd like you to meet."

She hung up and said, "We will actually have two things to attract people—a costumed character for the little kids, and the rededication of the fountain for the grown-ups."

Knowlton corrected her, "Mr. Lyons will be the main attraction. Mr. Lyons is the reason we are here."

Suzie agreed, "Of course."

Gene burst through the door, wearing his Chili Dog top. Suzie pointed and said, "Gene, this is Mr. Knowlton, the man I told you about."

Gene stuck out his hand enthusiastically. He said, "Toby the Turtle, at your service."

Knowlton's hand stopped halfway to Gene's. His jaw dropped. "What did you say?"

Gene continued smiling. "Of course that's not my real name. I'm Gene. I'm playing Toby the Turtle on Monday." He turned to Suzie. "It is Monday, right?"

Suzie replied, "Right. Monday the twenty-fifth."

Knowlton turned to her. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Suzie smiled nervously. She shook her head no.

Knowlton looked up toward heaven, as if looking for help. He asked Suzie, "I did put you on Mr. Lyons's routing system, did I not? You do receive the e-mails?"

She nodded.

"Do you ever read them?"

Suzie continued nodding.

"Then you are aware that Mr. Lyons has a problem on environmental issues, a problem mostly brought on by an unfortunate entombing of turtles?"

Suzie stopped nodding and looked down.

Knowlton held both hands out, as if measuring one foot's worth of stupidity. "So what would be the stupidest thing we
could possibly do? Wait a minute, I know! We could schedule the candidate to appear here, at the scene of the crime, with a man wearing a turtle costume!"

I looked over at Dad. He was looking away, as if this really didn't affect him. He obviously had no intention of standing up for Suzie.

Knowlton picked up his briefcase. "I am going out now to examine the area where the candidate will be speaking. It should take me about ten minutes. If you come up with another idea by then, one that does not automatically cost the candidate the election, I will listen to it. If you do not, I will hire my own people to stage this event." He cast a withering glance at Gene. Then he told Suzie, "This is not
The Amateur Hour.
Mr. Lyons is poised to become a national figure. Let's treat him like one." And out he went.

Suzie had to have been devastated. But she didn't fall apart, she sprang into action. She shouted, "Gene! What other character could you do?"

"Uh, Oliver Hardy."

"Who's that?"

"From Laurel and Hardy?"

"No! What else?"

"Lou Costello. From Abbott and Costello."

"Gene, who can you do by yourself? Just you!"

"Uh, I got my Santa suit in the van."

Suzie stared at him intensely. Then she sat down and started scribbling madly on a legal pad. By the time Knowlton returned, she was ready for him.

Knowlton was in a calmer mood after visiting the rotunda. He said, "Okay. What do you have for me?"

Suzie read off the legal pad. "We have the biggest attraction in the world—Santa Claus. It's an early visit from Santa. He wants to get a head start on the kids' Christmas lists. Mr. Lyons
is coming on September twenty-fifth, so it's 'Buy on September twenty-fifth and you can relax on December twenty-fifth.' We have great layaway sales at all the stores. 'Get your shopping done now so you can enjoy the holidays. Get great prices now, too.' The mothers will love it, and the kids will love it."

Knowlton asked, "What about the retired people?"

"The retired people are going to be here, anyway."

Knowlton thought for a long moment. He finally answered, as if to himself, "It's a dumb idea, but at least it's not fatal. I can work with this as long as I can keep Mr. Lyons separate from Santa Claus. Mr. Lyons can't be associated with giving people things that they haven't worked for."

He looked up at Suzie. "All right. You do the Santa bit early, to get the kids and moms in here. Mr. Lyons can tape a man-in-the-street session while all that nonsense is going on. Then Santa disappears." He pointed an accusing finger at Gene. "I mean, I want you out of here. I want no photos showing the candidate and Santa Claus in the same universe. Then Mr. Lyons comes out for the fountain bit. He throws the switch, he gives his speech, he endears himself to young and old alike." Mr. Knowlton snapped the locks on his briefcase. "All right. I think that will work. You'll get your final schedule from me tomorrow."

Knowlton picked up the briefcase and started out. Suzie, still holding her legal pad, followed him. But he walked straight through the mall exit without looking back.

I felt a great sense of relief leaving with Mrs. Weiss and Mrs. Roman for dinner. I felt like I was with normal people for a change. We piled into the white Lincoln and headed south, up and onto the cloverleaf highway at the edge of the Everglades. Mrs. Weiss said, "I don't like driving up in the air like this. It upsets my stomach."