One Good Hustle (16 page)

I don’t get it. It’s not illegal to turn left on an amber. Most of the time, that’s what you
have
to do. Isn’t it? I want to argue this point but I hear Marlene in my head: “You’d argue with your big toe if there was no one else in the room.”

“At the next intersection, make a right-hand turn.”

With the long line of traffic, it takes a while to make it to the corner. But when I do, I have just enough time to make a smooth right before the light changes and traffic starts coming from the other direction. It looks as if we’re heading back to the test centre.

“Check your rear-view,” he tells me.

“Okay. I did.”

“Why do you think those cars are so close behind?”

I glance in the mirror again. “Because … because they’re tailgating?”

“Try again.”

My chest is starting to bang. “I’m going too slow?”

“Because you made that last turn just as eastbound traffic got a green light. You should have
anticipated
the light would turn and waited. Anticipate!”

Anticipate? I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about.
Anticipate
. If I could anticipate every friggin’ thing that might happen, my life wouldn’t be the bowl of turds that it is right now, would it.

My hands start to tremble and I grip the wheel harder.

At twenty past three, we drive back into the test centre parking lot. I put the car in park and pull on the emergency break.

Well, that’s it. I failed. I suppose I have to take the whole damn test over again.

The test guy scribbles some more and circles something. He opens the clip on his board, and tears the top sheet off before he opens his door.

“Driving’s not that hard, kid.
Practise. Anticipate
.” His voice is all snark—as if he thinks I’m some lowlife, a dirty little cockroach. That’s what he thinks, I bet.

He tosses the scoresheet on the seat and slams the door behind him.

I pick up the paper.
Pass
, it says with a circle around it. I passed by one point.

I should be happy. But my throat hurts. Tears blur my vision. What a baby. What a goddamn baby I’ve turned into.

I open the car door and watch that cranky old reptile head back to the building. His thin, sinewy arm yanks open the door and he stands there, waiting for me.

SIXTEEN

WHEN LOU, JILL
and I got back home, we told Ruby that I passed the driving test and she nearly wet her pants. She grabbed hold and gave me one of her octopus hugs before I could even finish my sentence. She’s going to make me enjoy the hugging stuff if it kills her so I have resigned myself. Actually, I’ve discovered that when I relax—if Ruby feels tension, we’ll be there all day—it’s over quicker. I’ve also started to hug her right back. Good and hard. She giggles and squeals and lets me go.

Now we’re sitting at the kitchen table. Just finished supper—spaghetti and meatballs—and Ruby sets a chocolate layer cake down in the middle of us. It says,
Congratulations, Sammie!
in red icing. There’s a little Matchbox car on top: a red Mustang.

I stare at the cake now and I don’t know what to say because it’s just so goddamn nice of her.
What a classy thing to
do
—that’s what Marlene would say. God, look at it! Two layers and—and it’s just so pretty and cute, the way the icing is, and the little car and the chocolate, and the way my name has a big exclamation point! My eyes are welling up again. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? I bawl when I’m sad and bawl when I’m happy.

“I waited for Lou’s call before I finished the icing,” Ruby confesses.

“What if she’d flunked?” Jill wants to know.

“In that case, I thought I’d go with
At This Difficult Time, Stuff Your Face
.”

“
Our Hearts Are Saddened
,” Jill suggests, “
But Our Bundt Is With You
.”

Lou laughs. Me too. Feels good to be laughing. I’d told them about Froggy, the test guy, at dinner and they’d cracked bad frog jokes:
What’s red and green and goes two hundred miles an hour?
A road tester in a blender.
What kind of shoes do road testers wear?
Open-toad sandals.

It cracks Ruby up every time I croak out, “
Anticipate!
”

Lou tells me I can borrow his truck whenever I need it. “Same goes for Jill if she ever gets her licence,” he says. He forks some cake into his mouth.

“I have boobs,” Jill says. “I don’t have to drive.”

Lou looks at his kid with dismay as he chews.

Jill giggles her ass off. “What, Daddy?”

“
What, Daddy?
” Ruby mimics. She’s trying to savour the sliver of cake she cut for herself. On the fridge there’s a magnet that reads,
A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips
. Another one says,
Growling is your tummy’s applause for a job well done!

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Lou says to Jill. “Your mother drive, Sammie?”

“Yup. She drives,” I say.

“I don’t enjoy it,” Ruby says. “I’d rather Lou drove.”

Marlene used to say that too. It used to bug her when Sam expected her to drive. She preferred to be “the lady,” she said. This was back when we were a family. We used to go on these big road trips and stay in motels and hotels all over the United States. Sam said that south of the border there was ten times the money and ten times the suckers.

There was this one hustle called the Pigeon Drop where Marlene had to drive because of the character Sam liked to play. A good hustle is like a good movie: everyone’s got a character to play and that’s what makes the scene work. You can’t break character either, from the time you arrive until you leave.

Marlene and Sam must have pulled this scam a ton of times but I can only remember the once. We were in the state of Florida, in the area where they keep Disney World. Marlene drove, Sam road shotgun, so to speak, and I sat in the back.

The set-up worked best in a busy shopping plaza with a bank. So that’s where we were, window-shopping in some plaza in Orlando.

It was January and I was happy to be escaping winter and missing school. I think I was about six. Young enough that they didn’t tell me much ahead of time; young enough that it didn’t matter whether I had a poker-face or not.

Marlene had on a flamingo-pink pantsuit. She held my hand and I remember looking at her blonde ponytail and her
thick bangs and thinking that she was the prettiest woman in the world.

“You look like TV,” I told her. “Like
I Dream of Jeannie
.”

She winked at me. Just like Jeannie would have.

I had a paper bag in my hand. That was my only job, to hold on to that paper bag and keep it shut.

We strolled along the plaza sidewalk, stopping at each window, peeking past the reflections into the shops. Sam dawdled, his jaws working, cheek muscles scrunched into the left side of his face. Marlene was still my mother, but Sam was playing my uncle now, my mother’s brother. Sam loved to play a mentally retarded guy he called Farmer Lug. He
loved
spazzing the muscles in his face as if he had no control. He used to say, “If my face don’t hurt afterward, I didn’t do it right.”

My mother and I were looking at a pair of Buster Browns in a shoe store when she turned her head. I followed her gaze to a bald man in a green sport coat who was walking in our direction. I used to wonder how she picked her suckers, but when I got older I
knew
who she would choose, by the way the guy moved, the way he dressed. This bald guy had a smarty-pants look on his face. He walked along in his green sport coat as though nobody in the world could look as good in that coat as he did. I felt the tension come into Marlene’s hand. She turned from the shoe-store window and cleared her throat.

“Excuse me,” Marlene said. “Do you know what time it is?”

His eyes slid over my mother’s pantsuit, as if he wanted to swallow her. “Time to get a watch, sweetheart.” He winked and then smiled as he glanced at his own. “It’s twenty past one.”

“Oh shoot. Thank you.”

Marlene called to Sam in a sweet voice and told him that we had better hurry up.

The guy in green gave her another smile before he went on his way.

Pulling me by the hand, Marlene stepped off the curb as if we were heading for the car. I glanced back, looking for my father, and then stopped when he bent down to do up his shoelaces.

Sam let an envelope drop from under his arm and yelled, “What’s this here?” as he picked it up. Gawking into his hands he turned in a circle, looking all around him. The man in green glanced back and paused.

Sam called out to him. “Hey! Mister, is this yours?” Sam opened the envelope. “Holy cow!”

The man turned and took a half-step toward Sam. “Whaddya got, pal?”

“Holyyyy … it’s a million dollars … ha ha.”

The man looked each of us up and down.

“There’s nobody’s name or no pictures,” Sam said, his mouth ticking and twisting.

The faces he made! As if he was made out of Silly Putty. I started to laugh and my mother squeezed my hand.

“Honey, give me that.” Next to Sam now, Marlene took the envelope. She counted the money inside—her lips moving so we could all see the total:
three thousand
.

The man in the green coat came a little closer. He was ours now: our big green pigeon.

I stayed close to my mother and held on to the paper lunch bag. I remember wondering if they were still alive in there. I brought the bag up to my ear and listened. The brown paper rattled suddenly as bugs batted the insides. I twitched my head away. They were so ugly—flying cockroaches. The thought of them crawling on my skin made me shiver.

“No ID or anything, huh?” the pigeon said, eyeing the money in my mother’s hand.

“Nothing.” Marlene stuffed it back in the envelope, as if the sight of all that cash made her nervous. “Oh, wait. Here’s a little piece of paper.
Lucky Lady, 3–5; American Joy 5–7 … No winners
. I don’t know what that means.”

“Sounds like a bookie,” the man told her.

“It’s mine,” Sam said and pulled it out of my mother’s hands.

She took the envelope back from Sam. “Come on now, that doesn’t belong to you. We have to find the rightful owner.”

“It’s mine!” Sam stomped. “I found it.” He wrapped his arms around his head, pulling the kind of tantrum I’d have gotten a smack for.

“A bookie,” the man repeated. “Loot he made taking bets. Dog racing, probably.”

Marlene looked dubious.

The man’s gaze dropped to the envelope. “Don’t imagine that’d last too long in a lost and found.”

“I expect not,” she said. “I feel bad. This is a lot of money.”

The man pushed his hands into his pockets. “Maybe it’s our lucky day.”

“It’s our lucky day!” Sam shouted, and hugged himself.

“My name is Louise.” Marlene offered the stranger her hand. “This is my brother, Teddy, and my little girl, Tina. We’re not even from here. We’re in town visiting my oldest brother.”

“Orin.” The man shook her hand. “I’m not from here either. Atlanta. Just here on business.”

Marlene’s eyes lit up as if she’d just stumbled on royalty. “An Atlanta businessman probably knows just what to do! I swear to God, as soon as I see cash, I get confused.”

That’s actually sort of true about her. When you work a hustle, it’s good if you can incorporate your real self a bit. Within limits.

Orin started to shift around; he couldn’t take his eyes off that envelope. “If you want my advice …”

“I would be
grateful
,” Marlene said in that light smooth voice she used to be so good at. “Actually, you know what? My brother, Brian, is a lawyer. I should just call him. Maybe you could talk to him?” She started toward a phone booth. “He’s right in town here.”

Orin followed. “When you’re dealing with cash—”

“It’s my money!” Sam’s tone see-sawed.

Marlene looked back. “If the people don’t come back for their money then we’ll split it. How does that sound? One thousand five hundred dollars just for you.”

Sam clapped his hands.

My paper bag rattled a little and I flinched.

Waiting for my mother to put her call through, Orin smiled at me. “What you got in that bag, sweetie? I bet you’ve got some palmetto bugs.”

“They’re my pets,” I said quietly. That was what Sam had told me when he gave me the bag.

On the phone, Marlene explained the situation. It was actually Fat Freddy at the other end, feeding her all the lines, my mother preparing him to talk to the pigeon should the pigeon insist.

“Brian,” she said into the receiver, “we’re leaving town, I don’t have time for all that … Well, what’s a
bond?
I don’t understand what that means.” She sighed as if she was exasperated. “Brian, why don’t you explain it to Orin, the fellow who … 
all right!
I’ll try to do that … goodbye!”

She hung up the phone and turned to Orin. “He gets so
impatient
. He had a meeting to get to. Brian says to make it legal, we have to put up a bond for an equal amount and that we have to run an ad in the paper. If no one claims the money in thirty days, it’s ours. Brian says he’ll take care of the ad and he’ll draw up the paperwork but we have to put the money in his safe if he handles it. What’s a bond?”

Orin smiled patiently. “A bond is a kind of promissory agreement. When a bond is issued, there must be a deposit made and that insures both parties.”

“Oh, honey, you’re speaking Greek. I don’t suppose you would be willing to take the money to my brother’s office, would you? I promised my little one that I’d take her to Disney World and now everything’s so complicated. I could give you whatever portion I owe for the bond and then if you could take care of the legal arrangements …”

“Sure!” Orin said. “Why don’t we just nip into the bank here?”

She followed Orin into the bank, saying, “Will they cash my traveller’s cheques?”

I looked up at Sam. “When are we going to Disney World?”