Precautions
“What were you two doing up in your room?” Mary asked, hands on her hips, standing in the frame of the kitchen door.
“Nothing,” Terry said, standing by the counter and making himself a peanut butter sandwich. He poured himself a glass of milk. The tap dripped. A centipede scurried unnoticed up the side of the sink and slid behind the refrigerator. Terry hated skim milk but there was nothing else to drink.
“Your girlfriend sure took off in a hurry.”
“She has a history assignment.” Terry made a face. “This stuff tastes like mucus.”
“Don’t get that little slut pregnant. Her parents may be as rich as skunks but you know who’ll get left holding the bag. I’m not up to raising another rug rat.”
“She’s not a slut,” Terry barked. He grabbed his sandwich and milk and slumped down in a chair by the table.
Mary stepped over to the refrigerator.
“It’s not easy raising a teenage boy by yourself,” she said, opening the refrigerator door. “God, at least you’re not a girl. But please, Terry, for my sake, keep it in your pants.”
“How can you talk like that to your son?”
Mary smirked. “Give me a break, Terry. I was a kid myself.” 16
“She ain’t a slut,” Terry muttered. His sandwich stuck to the roof of his mouth. He took a swallow of milk. “Why do you have to use words like that?”
“I can’t believe her parents bought her a car,” Mary continued, glancing back over her shoulder. “Who has that kind of money? It’s a bed on wheels. What can they be thinking? No daughter of mine would have her own car, at least not until she’d graduated from high school. You be careful with that girl. I don’t want you catching anything.” Mary grabbed the sliced ham, lettuce, and mayonnaise and placed them on the counter. “Shit!” she cried, opening the breadbox. “You ate the last two slices of bread.”
Terry bowed his head and muttered, “What am I supposed to do, starve?”
“I guess I can use these hot dog buns. They’ll get a big laugh at the office. I can hear the wiener jokes now.” She made her sandwich, wrapped it in plastic wrap, and placed it in a paper lunch bag with an apple. “I may be home late tomorrow night, Terrence. I don’t want to come home and find that girl in my bed again. God, I’ll have to change the sheets.
You could at least use your own room. I hope that you’re using precautions.”
“I thought you were going to come and watch me play soccer.” Terry looked up at his mother.
“Oh shit! Is that tomorrow night? I’m sorry. But we really need the extra money. There’s Kraft dinner in the cupboards. And hot dogs. This is the last bun. Improvise.”
“Are you going to the Zig Zag again?”
“I might.”
Terry finished eating his sandwich. “Why do you have to hang out there?”
“Are you afraid that I’ll catch you and your friends drinking there-and don’t tell me that’s never happened. I’ve talked to Jack and told him that you fellas are underage. He’s seen your photograph. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with the Zig Zag except maybe the name.
It’s a quite respectable place. And I need to unwind. You’re not much company. You need a haircut.”
“There was a call from the dentist. You’ve got an appointment next Tuesday at seven.”
“Shit! I’ll have to cancel. If Brennan weren’t such a cheap prick we’d have a dental plan. When was the last time you saw the dentist?”
“I’ll need some money,” Terry responded. “There’s a class trip to the art gallery next week.”
“Art gallery! What the hell does art have to do with education?” A Strange Hobby
“And you call that a hobby?” Mary laughed. She put her gin down on the bar and reached for a cigarette. The tall dark gentleman beside her smiled with his gallows face, and flicked out a lighter to light the cigarette waiting in her lips. She sucked the flame into her long white cigarette. He slipped his lighter back into his pocket like a gunslinger, adjusted his bow tie, and gestured to the bartender for another round. Mary liked the way he looked. A man dressed in black had always appealed to her. And he was tall. God, he must be seven feet. Mary glanced at his hands and smiled. His name was Hank. Why doesn’t he use Henry?
Hank turned and smiled at her. “Detroit won the Stanley Cup in 1950 against the Rangers who had to play all their home games at Maple Leaf Gardens. The circus had taken over Madison Square Garden in New York. Imagine not being able to play your home games at home.”
“I don’t know much about sports, Hank,” Mary confessed, smoke curling seductively out of her lips.
Hank smiled, his mouth salivating as he glanced at the cleavage in Mary’s dress.
“What is it that you find so interesting about 1950?” Mary asked, leaning on her elbow as she stared up into the dark deep eyes of her compan-ion. How can anyone’s eyes be that blue?
Hank shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “I think everyone should know something about something and I chose the year 1950. You wouldn’t have thought it was much of a year. Just another number. But a lot happened. Maybe a lot always happens.”
“Well,” Mary smiled, “I find it very interesting. Tell me more.”
“Rex Ingram died in 1950. He was the director who reputedly discovered Rudolph Valentino. He directed the great screen idol in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. His family name was Hitchcock but he adop-ted his mother’s name. Although he was married it was rumored that he was gay. His death was suspicious. Some say he was murdered.”
“Oh my!” Mary gasped, tapping her cigarette gently on her ashtray.
“Murdered! Why is it that people’s lives are so much more interesting after you find out that they were murdered?” 18
“It was hushed up. Rumor had it that William Randolph Hearst murdered him in a fit of jealousy, thinking that Ingram was having an affair with Hearst’s mistress.”
“Who was William Randolph Hearst?”
“One of the most powerful men in America. He owned a string of tabloid newspapers.”
“And no one was charged!”
“It happens. People disappear under suspicious circumstances all the time and no one does anything about it.”
In the background a Billie Holiday song about strange fruit played.
The dishwasher under the bar changed gears. A package of cigarettes tumbled down inside the cigarette machine.
“My husband disappeared,” Mary said, glancing over her shoulder to see who had bought cigarettes.
CHAPTER THREE
“I like the dead,” Hank said, nursing the glass of beer on the bar in front of him, staring at the bubbles piled on top of each other like eggs.
“They don’t talk back.”
Jack nodded and looked around the bar. He grabbed a package of cigarettes from under the bar and offered one to Hank. Hank shook his head. Jack flipped a cigarette into his mouth, tossed the cigarette package into a small nook beside the cash register and pulled out his lighter, which he twirled in his fingers before lighting his cigarette.
Hank watched with marvel. “That’s quite a trick.” Jack shrugged his shoulders modestly.
Hank sipped at his beer. “Don’t smoke. Made me dizzy when I tried it as a kid so I never took it up.” He laughed. “Didn’t want to stunt my growth. Don’t regret it. Can’t see what good it does you and then there’s all the money you spend. Figured it’s cheaper to marry and divorce, pay alimony and child support, send the kids to college than to smoke for thirty years. Once had an interview with Philip Morris down in the States. Five-figure position. Membership at the golf course. They have their own golf course. You should see the clubhouse. There’s a lot of money in weeds. In the end I had to turn them down. They insisted that I smoke their brand. I tried to tell them that I didn’t smoke anyone’s brand. Those were the days when nine out of ten doctors recommended 19 one of their brands and so they couldn’t understand why I wasn’t fond of good old St. Nic. I had my principles, and like I say, smoking made me dizzy. And if that don’t convince you, think about the loss of time.