Jack Be Nimble: Gargoyle (25 page)

“Really?”

Anything to keep my mind off how high up this is, he silently replied. “Yeah, like how do you say this thing I’m on?” He reached the top and clawed himself onto the grainy platform.

“How high are you? Thirty feet?”

“Feels like a thousand.” He chuckled nervously.

“Then that’d be
‘la piattaforma dei dieci metri’
.”

“And if I dive off, what do you call me?”

She’d left the pool and was half reclining on her canary yellow towel a few feet from the pool’s edge. “You’re definitely a
‘tuffatore’
, Jack. Is this helping at all?”

Mercedes was pretty much the only thing Jack could bear to look down on from this height. He stood, loosening his shoulders, forcing himself to breathe evenly. “Keeps me from thinking about—how do you say ‘good luck?’”

Mercedes thought a minute, pulling a pair of sunglasses from her bag. “My grandmother would say something like
, in bocca al lupo!
‘Into the mouth of the wolf.’ Is that close enough?”

“I guess. Your grandmother sounds like a lot of fun. So how do you say “scream my head off?”

“
Grida molto,
you big sissy,” she laughed, shaking her head.

“How about--”

“
Respiri a fondo!”

Jack stopped swinging his arms and looked down again. Mercedes chuckled. She had a throaty, if hesitant laugh. “‘Take a deep breath!’ I swear, you’re going to pass out up there!” The crowd of younger girls, now crowding around Mercedes with thick cotton towels of their own, joined in, clapping for Jack to dive. Mercedes beckoned them in, whispering. They all looked up at Jack and giggled.

Muttering under his breath, Jack edged toward the gulf of empty space at the end of the platform. The whole concrete slab looked marvelously smaller than it had from below. He was standing on a toothpick, for crying out loud! How many Jacks can dance on the head of a pin?

This wouldn’t do at all. He closed his eyes, picturing the water below, mentally
feeling
the expanse of air he would fall–no,
move
–through. He imagined himself smoothly jumping back and up, folding over himself in a somersault, then landing perfectly vertical against the water, as if he was sliding through a circle just big enough to–but that was it! A circle–no, a parabola. He was thinking about this all wrong; his trajectory off the board would be a finite parabola, and as such could never be truly vertical! No wonder he was turning too far. Sometimes he was a complete idiot. He could do this. He inched backward until his heels were over the edge. “Okay, wish me up a little luck here, okay?”

Almost in unison, the mob of girls screamed, “Break a leg, Jack!”

Startled, he fell.

But he got it right.

Jack shoved hard with his feet against the lip of the platform as he tumbled from it, got enough momentum to begin the rotation of his body back toward the platform, then, as gravity plucked him from the sky and the cement stage slipped past, he had a terrifying sensation that he wasn’t turning fast enough; that he’d pancake down
hard
against the uprush of water.

Then the parabola flashed through his mind again, and he snapped into a dive position nearly a quarter of a second before his fingertips touched the water.

Ha! Jack broke the surface, buoyed upward by the billowing, surging relief that he’d managed a thirty foot dive–an inward dive!--without further injury. The crowd of little girls clapped their hands and squealed with delight.

“Not bad, Aquaman. Fenomenale,” said Mercedes, grinning, running to the ladder. “My turn!”

Literally. Any newfound sense of confidence in his diving ability was definitively erased the moment the girl’s feet left the platform and she curled into a tight, twisting two-and-a-half.

Later, as Mercedes and her cousins were getting dressed, Jack caught up to Gessner as the older man tested the pool’s chemical balance. Jack had found a tank top and another pair of faded shorts.

“Hey, John, can I take second shift later?” He stood awkwardly on one foot, attempting to tie his shoelaces and maintain eye contact at the same time. The white canvas shoe felt odd around his foot; he really did need to wear shoes more often in the summer.

“I don’t care; whatever. Going to have lunch with your new friend?” Gessner was inscrutable behind his aviator glasses. “Ah, will you look at this? Too many kids using the pool as their own personal toilet!” He shook the plastic vials angrily. “There’re going to be beatings today, Jack!”

“Unh-
huh
. I’ll be back in about an hour, but Mercedes has never eaten at Medley’s, and--”

“–You’re taking her to Medley’s, and you’re dressed like that?” Gessner snorted derisively. You’re a novice, my friend. Take the whole afternoon off, go put on something nice, wash the chlorine out of your brain. We’re covered for today, and you spend too much time here for your own good. You smell like the surge tank, you know that?” The older man shrugged and added a few drops of base to the vial. “There, that’s better. More soda ash. No, I’ll get it,” he roared at Jack, who was nearly out the door. “You clean up the books you littered all over the lounge. Scott, Dave, and Andy are going up on the towers today, and the place is enough of a mess as it is.”

He looked at Jack over his sunglasses. “Mercedes, hunh? Nice to see such good genetic material at work.”

Jack grinned. Sometimes he forgot the man was a biology teacher. “Yeah, she’ll be pretty good looking in a few years.”

“She’s pretty good looking right now, you cretin!” Gessner made as if to slap his forehead. “Novice!” He shook his head. “I swear, I was never this--Just be sure and invite me to the bachelor party, you amateur, when you finally decide she’s gorgeous enough. And tell her not to pee in the pool!” Gessner stormed out good-naturedly, ranting under his breath.

A few minutes later he returned, directing the efforts of three other boys as they attempted to manhandle one of the hundred pound bags of soda ash out onto the pool area. Jack was on his knees fishing his other shoe out from behind a scratched-up desk when the three newcomers boiled back into the lounge, stripping down to their suits and reaching for sunblock.

“The Gez says you're not working today, Jack,” said Dave, the tannest and skinniest of the three. “What's up? I heard Alonzo’s parents got a new boat, you going up on the lake?”

“Naw.” Jack found his shoe. “Water’s not quite warm enough to ski. Maybe a couple more weeks. He’s not back home from Australia yet, anyway.” He slipped into his shoe and started working on the laces.

“Who’s not working today?” asked Andy, smearing bright blue zinc on his nose. “Jack, man, you’re going to miss the show! I heard that new chick is coming back today with the kids she babysits!”

Jack looked up. Though Dave, Andy, and Scott would be seniors with him when high school started up again in a few months, he’d never been particularly close to any of them. He knew they talked about him behind his back; made fun of the textbooks he left in the lounge–even switched him to the hottest, most hectic shifts when they got hold of the upcoming week’s schedule. To the best of his knowledge, Jack couldn’t recall ever having an eye-to-eye conversation with any of them while either of the other two were present. The exchange usually turned towards their expertise vis-a-vis the opposite sex, or more often, kiddingly, Jack’s lack thereof. Each had that special talent for mockery that could insidiously insert itself into any discussion. Jack was noticing it more and more lately, as if many of his classmates had all signed up for an AP course in hubris. Dave, Andy, and Scott were almost bullies. Jack didn’t really care; their cumulative respect for his size and speed kept the playing field more than even. “The ‘new chick?’”

“The honey in the green suit.” Andy had finished with his nose and now spread twin streaks of blue under both eyes, like warpaint. “The blond.” He turned to Dave. “You know who I mean, bro!”

Dave rolled his eyes. “Diane’s cousin. Totally stacked ‘til Tuesday. Hey, Earth to Jack; anybody home?”

Scott joined in the conversation. “I dunno, guys, I think she’s a little cold. She wouldn’t give me the time of day. Rick neither. And you saw what she did to Kyle–he’s probably still berserko. Brrrr.”

“Cold,” Dave agreed.

“Regular ice queen.”

“But man, is she ever built,” returned Dave.

“Bet she had to jump out of a tree to get into that suit.” Andy said.

Jack started to stand, keeping his face down, trying not to make eye contact with Gessner, who stood behind the three sweating young men, as close to open laughter as Jack had ever seen him.

Scott scooped his whistle off the desk. “I’d crawl over hot coals just to get--”

“Well, guys, got to run,” Jack broke in. “Got to pay her back for a diving lesson.” He pushed past them. As if on cue, Mercedes and her two youngest cousins walked around the corner from the women’s locker room.

Maybe Jack’s heart actually skipped a beat at the sight of her, or maybe he just didn’t notice it thumping away for an instant, but he was dead sure he could hear three pairs of eyes bulge behind him as he headed for the door.

This is perfect, he thought. Just like in the movies.

Gessner touched one finger to his tongue and tapped it on Jack’s chest, making a hissing sound as the younger man passed him. “Whew! Careful, Andy, leave your mouth open like that and something greasy could fly in. Multifaceted eyes. Yum.”

*

It was nearly ten o’clock by the time Jack got back to the pool, fumbling for a moment under the yellow porchlight for his key to the pool. He found he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

The two of them had gone to Medley’s, one of the slightly exclusive restaurants ringing the reservoir’s marina that catered to Forge’s seasonal tourist flow. Except for a few of his classmates who were bussing tables, Jack didn’t recognize a soul. It would be an expensive date–okay, payback, but Jack figured, what the heck. It’s not like he was trying to impress her; he just knew–instinct, he realized--there was no use pulling punches with a girl like Mercedes.

They’d found a table on the balcony overlooking the stretch of lake. Mercedes seemed taken with the view, a good ten mile stretch of dark green-blue water rimmed by an even darker border of Douglas firs and pines. The breeze off the lake undercut the bright afternoon with the mild, earthy smell of pine needles. At the far end of the marina, a young couple in wetsuits were unloading a pair of shiny blue jetskis. The three wooden docks were already beginning to fill up for the summer; over half the slips were occupied already by pleasurecraft and houseboats. At least a dozen bright pennants snapped in the warm air. “It looks so peaceful.” she said.

Her eyes had widened slightly when he explained how she was only seeing a tiny piece of the reservoir. She’s putting me on, Jack thought. I’m boring this city girl to tears.

But Mercedes was either genuinely interested or an incredibly good sport. She’d managed to keep a straight face when he ordered escargot, and in return, Jack had pretended not to be surprised when Mercedes balanced her soupspoon on her nose.

He’d thought for a moment they’d actually be asked to leave when she drew several startled glances by loudly crunching her ice. One man in yuppie-green golf pants two tables down almost choked on his veal cutlet, then on the glass of water with which he attempted to wash it down. As he blotted himself off, Mercedes whispered to the man, “Too much ice in the drinks, if you ask me.”

And that had elicited a laugh from the three tables around them. One silver-haired man on the opposite side of Jack and Mercedes was particularly appreciative, and offered to pay for their lunch. “You see, I know who you two are,” he said, eyes twinkling. “I’d ask you to join me, but then that’d make me something of a fifth wheel, eh? Besides, I’m supposed to meet Max here in a few minutes.” He lifted his cup to his smiling mouth, and looked to Mercedes. “He’s always showing off one picture or another of you.”

She mirrored Jack’s bewilderment, but before he could think of any kind of a reply, her frown broke into a grin. “You’re Sean Lyons, aren’t you?” To Jack, she said, “This is my grandpa’s friend, Mr. Lyons. He’s a famous architect–so my grandpa says,” she amended as the older man laughed again.

Jack rose out of his chair far enough to reach the other man’s hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.” He wasn’t much past fifty, if that, and from all appearances was quite the clothes horse. Jack didn’t know that much about expensive clothing, but even under the shade of the building’s awning, the man’s white mercerized cotton t-shirt nearly blinded him. Then a thought struck Jack, and he cursed himself inwardly for his lack of manners.

“Thank you for building the new pool, Mr. Lyons. Everything works great now. Mercedes, he donated the plans, the equipment, everything.”

Lyons shrugged. “To be honest, it gave me something to do after I moved here. Retirement can be such a—well. I should be the one thanking
you
, Jack, for putting it to such good use.” He considered Jack as he spoke to Mercedes. “Did you know you were sharing a table with the future Idaho state swimming champion?” He looked sideways at her. “
You’d
better eat those snails for him. This boy’s in training.”