KooKooLand (19 page)

He ducked into the men's room and I waited for him. It seemed like he was gone a long time. I walked in a circle, feeling more and more nervous about the race. I wanted to pee too, but I didn't want Jimmy to bark at me for having a small bladder, so I held it.

Finally, he came out. He looked a little green around the gills and I wondered if maybe he had thrown up. He told me to shake a leg and we beat it back to the grandstand.

When we got there, I couldn't believe my eyes. Shirley was sitting with Hank and the miserable Shirley. The miserable Shirley didn't look miserable at all.

Jimmy lit up like the tote board when he saw Hank.

“Jesus,” he said. “My old man wouldn't make the goddamn trip, but here you are.”

“Yeah, here I am, greaseball,” Hank said. Hank didn't give a goddamn about the horses, so it was a big deal he had shown up.

“We flew up here in no time in the Caddy,” said the other Shirley, hanging on to Hank. “That car rides like a dream.” She said it like the car was hers. Like it was her goddamn dream.

Jimmy and Hank gave the other Shirley a look like she oughta shut her trap, but she didn't seem to notice.

I wanted to tell the previously miserable Shirley she was going to be miserable again if she didn't watch it.

Hank took out a cigar and the other Shirley hurried to light it for him.

“So this nag of yours, is it gonna win or what?” Hank asked Jimmy.

Jimmy pulled Hank aside and started whispering to him. I knew he was giving it to him straight up. I heard him say the horse looked good. He had eaten all his goddamn oats. Hank could bet the goddamn store on it.

Hank took off for the windows.

I got a sinking feeling. If Hank lost the store, Susan might have to quit school. She might never get to be a doctor who saved the lives of poor little colored children.

I clutched my ticket and prayed to God to let things go our way just this once. I promised never to do anything bad with a stuffed animal again.

A big truck rolled by, spraying clouds of mosquito repellent.

Virginia came back from the ladies' room smelling like smoke and carrying a Pepsi with two straws.

I realized I had to pee really bad.

“The horses are entering the track,” said the announcer with no excitement in his voice whatsoever.

I strained to see the black and the gold. I finally saw it. Victory Bound was the last horse to enter the track.

As the horses cantered in front of the grandstand, Jimmy peered at Victory Bound's ankles and knees and at how he held his head.

Hank came back and sat on the seat in front of me. I could see the stack of tickets bulging in his pants pocket.

“Did you buy a ticket for me?” cooed the other Shirley.

“No, I didn't,” said Hank. “But here.” He pulled out a ticket and handed it to her—a two-dollar ticket like mine. I could see a lot of other two-dollar tickets in his pocket. He could've gotten a few expensive tickets instead of a big bunch of deuces, but I figured he got more tickets to make a bigger bulge. Jimmy told me that was what a lot of guys did to look like big shots.

“I don't like to bet. I just like to watch,” the other Shirley said to Jimmy, who was trying to look through his binoculars.

Jimmy got the hell away from her and stood by the railing.

The other Shirley opened one of the beers she was carrying in her big purse and handed it to Hank.

“Can I get you anything else? How about a nice kielbasa?”

“Just watch the goddamn race,” Hank said.

“The horses are approaching the starting gate,” droned the announcer.

I was so excited I could barely breathe. I squeezed my legs together so I wouldn't pee on myself.

Don't blink, I ordered myself. If you keep your eyes on the black and gold from this moment on, Victory Bound will win.

Hank stood up in front of me, blocking my view. Then the other Shirley stood up, 'cause she would've followed Hank if he did a swan dive off the grandstand.

No, I silently cried, still not blinking, but unable to see a thing. Please don't do this. Please don't make me make him lose.

I struggled to see around their big asses.

I gave up and stood up on the bench and then Virginia stood up, and then the people behind us had to stand up and the people behind them. Everybody had to stand 'cause of Hank, the big shot.

“The horses have entered the starting gate,” the announcer said.

I could see the black and gold and I still hadn't blinked, so maybe everything would be OK. Maybe I hadn't jinxed it.

“And they're off.”

I heard the clang of the gate opening and the hooves pounding the dirt and I lost sight of the black and gold.

The horses were all bunched together and the announcer had suddenly come alive and was talking so fast you couldn't hear a goddamn thing he was saying.

I didn't blink. I kept my eyes on that knot of horses, straining to see the black and gold.

The people behind me were screaming for another stupid horse—“Go Nutmeg Gal!”—and Virginia and I tried to drown out their stupid voices.

“Go Victory Bound! Go Victory Bound! Go Victory Bound!”

We couldn't stop yelling it.

The horses came unbunched and I finally caught a glimpse of the black and gold in the backstretch. He was in the back of the pack.

My body went limp. Tears flooded my eyes. And I couldn't help it.

I blinked.

And then I knew for sure it was over.

I closed my eyes, 'cause it didn't matter anymore. I felt more tears and tried to squish my eyelids against my eyeballs to make them stop, but it didn't help.

I hated the people in the row behind me who were screaming louder and louder, urging their horse on when I had just gone mute.

We lost, and it's all my fault, I thought.

I wanted to take a swan dive off of the grandstand. I wanted to kill those goddamn people behind me.

And suddenly Virginia was grabbing my arm and pulling so hard I nearly fell off the bench.

I opened my eyes and the black and gold was miles in front—miles and miles—coming down the home stretch and Jimmy and Shirley were screaming and Hank and the other Shirley were screaming and all our friends were screaming and I was screaming—
govictoryboundgovictoryboundgovictorybound
—and the people behind me had gone mute.

He went over the finish line all by himself and I finally heard the announcer's voice, and even he sounded excited.

“And it's Victory Bound by six furlongs! Victory Bound is the winner!”

Everybody was jumping around and Shirley grabbed my hand and Virginia's hand and she looked so stunned, like she couldn't believe it, none of us could, and we were racing toward the winner's circle after Jimmy, all of us: Hank and the other Shirley and Uncle Bobby and Aunt Hazel and Uncle Barney and gas-station Charlie and hopped-up Bruce and the guys from the bookie joint and the Greeks from the coffeehouse and the alkies from the beer joint.

Victory Bound came prancing up to the winner's circle and Jimmy wanted everybody in the picture, but the guy said there were too many of us and Jimmy started to argue with him, but Hank told him to just get in the goddamn winner's circle with his family.

So it was just us, the Norris family—minus Sylvester and Squirmy—and the ringer who was pretending to be the trainer.

“Ain't this the life?” Jimmy cried out.

Yes, we all agreed. This was the life.

And then the flash went off.

And we were all blinded for a few moments.

“M
y lucky number is six now,” I announced to Virginia in the car on the way back to Old Orchard Beach that night. “Because Victory Bound's number was six and he won by six furlongs and today is August sixth.”

“Six-six-six is the mark of the devil,” intoned Virginia. She had just read a book about witchcraft and was convinced she had been burned at the stake in a previous life.

“Don't jinx my lucky number, Satan-lover,” I snapped at her.

In the front seat, Jimmy and Shirley were having a few highballs to celebrate Victory Bound's winning.

“Poor Shirley,” I heard Shirley say. “She's really got it bad for Hank.”

“She's a numbskull,” spat Jimmy. “I never shoulda introduced her to him in the first place.”

He was PO'd 'cause he'd asked Hank to stay over and go fishing with him the next day. But right after the race Hank told him the other Shirley was smothering him to death and they left. The other Shirley smiled and waved toodle-oo like she didn't know Hank was about to give her the heave-ho and she was gonna be Miserable Shirley again.

“If she'd just been smart enough to back off, she woulda been on goddamn easy street eating bonbons,” continued Jimmy. “A guy like Hank, you can't crowd him. He's like a boxer—you corner him, he's gonna come out fighting.”

“Maybe I should tell her that.”

“Keep your snout out,” said Jimmy. “Hank don't need another woman nosing around in his business. Besides, it wouldn't do any good. The real problem is he's still carrying a torch for that goddamn Doris.”

“I never thought Doris would go through with the divorce,” sighed Shirley. “Her being Catholic and all. People back in Canada said you make your bed, you lie in it.”

“Hank oughta thank his lucky stars she finally went through with it, 'cause he never woulda pulled the trigger. He's a loyal SOB. And she woulda just kept blubberin' to the cops every time they had a little spat.”

“At least she waited until Susan and Terry were out of high school. At least those kids didn't have to grow up in a broken home.”

“Give her a prize for that,” said Jimmy. “Give her the goddamn Cracker Jack prize.”

Hearing about Susan and her broken home made me more determined than ever to buy her a nice present. Not some piece of crap like a lobster key chain. Something special she could take back to college that would remind her I was her best friend in the whole goddamn world.

I slipped a finger into my sneaker to make sure my winnings were still safe in there. I could feel them—four simoleons. Jimmy had kept the two he had staked me for the ticket, 'cause he said that was like a loan. Then he took a cut of the winnings, 'cause that was like interest on the loan. If he were a loan shark that's how it would work, is how he explained it.

I felt like telling him he was an Indian giver, but I didn't want to hear about what an ungrateful little weasel I was. It was true I wouldn't have had any dough at all without him, so maybe he had a point. Maybe he deserved a cut. Maybe I
was
an ungrateful little weasel. Nobody had given Jimmy diddly-squat when he was my age. He had worked in Yanco's butcher shop every day after school and all day Saturday, and Papou always took his cut. So maybe all fathers took a cut. Maybe that's just how things worked.

That night when we got home, we all hid our money. Shirley's went into her underwear drawer and Jimmy's went under the mattress and mine went into the Good & Plenty box. Virginia didn't have any to hide 'cause she'd blown all of hers on cancer sticks and Pepsi. Jimmy had gotten everybody started on hiding their money. He didn't think money belonged in a goddamn bank. He didn't want some busybody banker knowing when he was making a killing and squealing to Uncle Sam. He didn't want his money all locked up after three in the afternoon when he might need to lay down a big bet or buy some hot merchandise or hightail it up to Canada if the fuzz came looking for him. Just to be safe, he made Shirley stay a Canadian citizen so we could get across the border easy—bingo bango.

I could imagine other situations in which we might need to use Jimmy's escape plan—an alien invasion, for instance. Or an A-bomb attack by Communists.

Awful things happened. They happened all the time. They happened out of the blue.

It didn't matter who you were. Or even if you were a big shot. Anybody could get sucker punched.

The day after Victory Bound won, I was lying on the beach, still basking in the glow of victory, when I heard two women sobbing. They were saying that Jackie Kennedy's baby had been born too soon and was probably gonna die.

It's a son, too, one of the women blurted out, which seemed to make it worse.

People all over New England are praying, the other woman said.

The pope's praying too, said the first woman. All good Catholics are.

I joined in. I closed my eyes and prayed with the pope and all the good Catholics of New England.

I prayed with Susan 'cause I knew, wherever she was, she was praying too.

But two days later, the Kennedy baby died anyway. Maybe somebody, one person, hadn't prayed hard enough. Maybe it was me.

But I knew what Tina would say. What Susan would say. God wanted that little baby. God had a scheme and it wasn't our business to know God's family business. We just had to pray now for the Kennedys not to suffer too much, even though the prayers we'd prayed before hadn't worked. Every time you prayed and your prayers didn't come true, you just had to keep on praying. Tina said that's what you did if you were a good Catholic.

So I lay down on the beach again and closed my eyes and prayed for the Kennedys to be less miserable.

But I couldn't concentrate. Jimmy's voice kept butting into my prayers.

He was going on and on to Shirley about Papou and YaYa. He had called to tell them about Victory Bound's victory and all YaYa had wanted to know was when we were coming back 'cause she was sick and tired of having a filthy rodent in her basement. Then, when Jimmy asked Papou if he wanted a photo of us in the winner's circle to put up in the beer joint next to the picture of the Great Jack Dempsey, Papou had told him not to waste his goddamn money.

Shirley said she was sure Papou was happy about the horse winning, that he just had a funny way of showing it. It was the Greek way, which was not to show happiness at all, 'cause then the evil eye would come looking for you and misery would rain down on you. Shirley had first learned about the evil eye when YaYa spit on me after I was born so I wouldn't die.