Double-Dare O’Toole (7 page)

“Fex! Telephone!” his father called.

“Thanks, Dad. Hello,” Fex said into the phone.

“Hi. Want to come over and watch TV? I'm baby-sitting. There's going to be a cool program on about the spirit world. Mom says it's O.K. if you come over for a while.”

It was Audrey. Asking him to come over and watch TV. Her parents were obviously going out
.

“Sure,” Fex said after a pause. “I guess so.” He hung up and studied the toe of his sneakers. The left one had a rip in the fabric. If he taped the rip, he could wear the sneaker a lot longer. On the other hand, if the rip got bigger he'd have to buy a new pair. He decided to try the tape. Painstakingly he put three strips of tape over the hole.

Jerry came in. “I can't decide whether I want to watch TV or practice,” Jerry said.

“Why not do both?” Fex asked. Jerry looked puzzled. That's what I'm doing, Fex thought. “Both!” Fex said aloud. “I'm going to Audrey's to watch TV, so the joint's yours.”

“How can I do both at the same time?” Jerry said. “You're nuts.”

Fex didn't answer. He ran down to tell his mother and father where he was going. As he rushed out into the gentle night air, he heard Jerry starting to make his coyote-caught-in-a-trap noises. Halfway to Audrey's he slowed down. He didn't want to look too eager.

13

Emma answered the door. She was naked, as usual.

“Hi,” she said.

Emma was Audrey's sister. Half sister. Audrey's parents had been divorced when she was little. Four years ago her mother had remarried. Emma was three.

“Where's Audrey?” Fex said. He was used to Emma by now.

“Taking a bath,” Em said. She wasn't completely naked. On her feet she wore a pair of ancient black rubbers. They were enormous. She maneuvered the rubbers as if they were skis and she were preparing for a downhill run. She pointed them in the direction she wanted to go, then followed them.

Emma walked nonchalantly past Fex on her way outside. The old lady who lived next door was probably stationed at her window in her nocturnal vigil. Fex knew she'd threatened to call the authorities several times if Emma continued to walk around unclothed.

Fex watched as Em made her way majestically across the lawn. If the mosquitoes discovered her, she'd be a goner.

“Go in if you want,” she called over her bare shoulder. Em had a mind of her own.

“Oh, Lord.” It was Audrey's mother in her robe, with curlers in her hair. “Will you get her please, Fex?”

“Shall I just grab her or what?”

“Here.” She handed him a wilted half sandwich. “It's mayonnaise and ketchup, her favorite. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. Try, would you?”

Feeling a fool one more time, Fex caught up with Emma. It wasn't hard. She wasn't making very good time. He held the sandwich just out of reach.

“Mayo and ketchup, Em,” he said, suppressing a desire to add, “Yum-yum.” There were certain lengths to which he would not go.

Emma came to a halt. The rubbers quivered in the still evening air. She put out her hand. Fex moved the bait out of her reach.

“Please.” She smiled at him.

“Your mother wants you inside,” he said. Emma sighed. She knew when she was licked. She turned toward home, handling the rubbers as if she were the ship's captain and about to bring the
Queen Elizabeth
into port. One rubber fell off. Em sat down on the grass to put it back on. She managed. It was a rare sight, seeing her get to her feet. Slowly, holding out the sandwich like a bone before a reluctant dog, Fex, with Emma bringing up the rear, inched his way toward the house.

With his foot on the top step, Fex glanced toward the old lady's house. The curtains moved as if caught in a strong wind. Fex smiled. Lucky he got Em back in so fast. Who knows? The old lady might've called the fire department. She had, more than once.

Fex lifted a hand and waved in her direction. The curtains stopped swaying and fell into place. Like most spies, the old lady didn't like to be caught in the act.

“Hello, Fex.” Audrey's stepfather greeted him. “You here to help tend the Mighty Mite?” That's what he called Emma. He was a nice man. Audrey called him Tom, which was his name. Her real father had also remarried and had three kids. Audrey had a passel of half brothers and sisters. They all got on together. She liked her stepmother, too. Fex was envious. He would have liked to have had a half brother or sister or two. His family was too ordinary, he thought. It would be pleasant to have a mixed-up family.

“We're going across the street to the Kellmans' to play bridge,” Audrey's mother said. “Read Em a
Curious George
story before she goes to bed, will you? That always calms her down.”

“She knows
Curious George
by heart,” Audrey said. “Hi, Fex. I can hardly wait to see this program. It's about the spirit world and how dead people come back and give messages to their loved ones.”

Fex tried to conceal the shudder that ran over him. He wasn't keen on knowing more about the spirit world. But he'd just as soon no one, especially Audrey, found out.

“Don't forget to lock up when Fex leaves, Aud,” her mother said. “We won't be late. We have our key.”

Audrey took Em up to bed. Downstairs, Fex paced. It was now or never. Practice makes perfect, doesn't it?

“She wants you to make her a boat out of newspaper,” Audrey said when she came down. “Like the one
Curious George
makes.” O.K. He'd make the kid a paper boat.

He made her three. Em clamored for more. He told her no, three was it.

His mouth was filled with saliva. No matter how often he swallowed, it wouldn't go away. He ran his finger around the collar of his T-shirt. It felt tight, as if his neck had expanded.

“This is going to be cool,” Audrey said, adjusting the color. She plumped down beside him on the couch.

“Want some potato chips?” she asked, holding out the bag. He shook his head. He couldn't eat anything. His tongue felt swollen in his mouth, as if it had been bitten by some strange off-course bee. With his mouth filled with saliva and his tongue taking up the rest of the space, he better forget the French kiss. Start someplace else.

“Blow in her ear,” Pete had said. Fex looked at Audrey. She needed a haircut. Ordinarily her ears were in plain sight. Now they were shrouded in hair. How could he see where to blow?

I'm not up to this, he thought sorrowfully. I've bitten off more than I can chew. A picture sprang into his mind, a picture of him biting off a piece of Audrey's ear and trying to chew it. Her ear was tough. He started to laugh, then he felt sick.

Eerie music came from the TV set. Someone screamed. He hoped it hadn't been him. Audrey chomped on potato chips, spraying crumbs.

“Neat,” she murmured, scrooching down as the announcer's juicy voice told them they were about to be introduced to something marvelously weird.

You ain't seen nothing, bud, Fex thought. Tentatively he moved his arm so it rested on the back of the couch. He let his fingers walk unsteadily toward their goal.

He touched Audrey's neck. Gently he let them stay where they'd landed. She took an absentminded swipe at the spot, eyes riveted on the TV. Fex moved closer. He let his other hand rest lightly on her denimed knee, as if by accident. Things were going better than he'd expected. Credits flashed on the screen: credits to the director, the actors, the producer. A long list. Audrey jumped up and ran to the kitchen. Fex felt as if God had given him a reprieve, as if he'd been on death row and the governor had just commuted his sentence. She came back with a bag of Cheez-O's and two Cokes.

You mean I have to start all over again? Fex asked himself. Man, there's more to this stuff than they let on. Much more. He felt like a paratrooper about to make his first jump.

Again he let his hand creep up on her. His arm went around her neck. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, which glowed red in the light from the TV set.

“What's up?” she inquired.

He grabbed her around her neck. Her little bones lay so close under her skin it seemed possible they might pierce through and scratch his hand. Her face was turned to him, incredulous. He opened his mouth and aimed for hers. He missed. His mouth skidded off her slick cheek like a car off an icy road.

His face plunged into the soft, rough fabric of the couch. He could hardly breathe. He felt as if he were being smothered. Maybe Audrey had decided to kill him.

“You're cuckoo,” he heard her say. Her voice sounded faraway. More screams came from the spirit world, followed by moans.

“That's all you are is cuckoo.”

He lay still, wondering what to do now.

He wished for nothing but escape. He longed to run for cover, to dig a hole and hide. For a long, long time.

Silence engulfed him. She must've turned off the TV. Slowly he raised his head. He knew he was being watched.

Emma stood in the doorway in her nightgown. For a minute Fex didn't recognize her. He wasn't used to seeing her in clothes.

Eyes glowing like two beacons in the darkness, Emma said, “Wotcha doing?” In her long white gown she looked like a plump little wraith.

Audrey was gone. Probably in the kitchen calling her parents to tell them to come home quick to rescue her from a sex maniac. Fex pulled himself together.

Emma put her head to one side, studying him. “Wotcha doing?” she said again. Fex shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said in a weak voice. “I have to go. Go back to bed, Em. Tell Audrey I have to go home.”

He fought his way out into the night. It was soft and cool and filled with stars. He wished it were raining.

At home he lay awake for hours, staring up at Jerry's backside. He'd never be able to face her again. He wondered if she'd tell anyone and hoped she wouldn't. Then, as he began the long, steep slide into sleep, he thought, I don't want to grow up. I'm not ready. I don't think I can handle it.

14

During the night the fog rolled in. Outside, a bird shrieked, confused, perhaps, by the swirling grayness. Fex sat up in bed the next morning and listened to the buzzing sound Jerry made when he snored. Like a mosquito looking for a square meal.

Fex got up and peered out the window. Maybe he'd died during the night and the spirits waited out there, ready to claim him.

No such luck. He got dressed, left a note on the kitchen table to say where he'd gone, and rode his bike to church. Once there, he locked his bike, went inside, and sat in the back pew. Sometimes he derived a sense of peace and contentment from church. Not today. When the collection plate was passed, he stared stonily down at his hands. He had no money to give. Afterward he rode around the quiet streets and eventually wound up at the general store. Thick stacks of Sunday papers lay on the sidewalk where the driver had dumped them. The store was locked. On the spur of the moment Fex decided to ride over to Angie's. She'd told him to drop in when he was in the neighborhood. He only had to make a slight detour to get to her neighborhood.

Angie's house was thin and dark, like Angie herself. She and her husband owned it, had paid off the mortgage last year, she'd told Fex. They lived on the top floor and rented out the ground floor to a family with a bunch of kids. The yard was dotted with tricycles and skateboards and mounds of plastic soldiers, much like Charlie's, lying in a trench someone had carved out of the packed-down dirt around the porch. Again Fex locked his bike. He took the outside stairs two at a time.

In answer to his knock a voice called, “Who's there?”

“It's me, Fex O'Toole,” he said.

The door opened a crack. “Come on in,” Angie said. He followed her into the kitchen. She had on a long pink bathrobe and fuzzy purple slippers that looked like miniature dust mops.

“I'm making bacon,” she said. “Sit yourself down and make yourself homely.

“It's a good thing you stopped by,” she told him as he sat down at the kitchen table. “I'm making pancakes, and I always make too much batter and have to toss it out. My husband watches what he eats.”

Fex didn't know how to start, how to say what he wanted to say.

“Get the butter out of the refrigerator, O.K.?” she said. “And pour out some syrup. There's a pitcher right there. My husband's still in the sack. He needs a lot of rest since his attack.” She piled two plates high with pancakes and decorated the edges of the plates with strips of bacon.

“Looks good enough to eat, eh?” she said, setting the plates down. In the center of the table, which was covered with a red-and-white-checked cloth, she put a container of milk, as if it were a bowl of flowers.

“O.K., we're set,” and they ate in a companionable silence. When he'd eaten all he could manage, Fex said, “How come you're not at the store by now?”

Angie shrugged. “I hired a guy to come in Sundays, to take charge until I get there. I'm wearing myself to a frazzle. My husband gives me a hard time, says we should sell out, retire to Florida. Can you see me in Florida? Me in my bikini?” She hooted with laughter.

“Who wants to retire to Florida? Not me. In Florida you got yourself a bunch of senior citizens playing shuffleboard and talking about all those ailments you see on TV. Irregularity, dentures, indigestion. How to make yourself old before your time.

“And anyway, who thought up that senior citizen bit? What does that make you?” She pointed at Fex. “Are you a junior citizen? Or maybe a kid citizen. I think they got their nerve. I'm no senior citizen. What's more, I don't ever plan on being one. Not if I live to be a hundred. It's insulting, that's what it is. They're not lumping me in with the rest of 'em. I'm the type that has to keep going. The type that dies with her boots on. You take my job away, that's it. Fini. The end.” She drew her finger across her throat. “I got to keep moving to stay alive.”