Amateur Hour

Franklin

“Now, this is what I’m talking about!” Dale stationed himself in front of the wall-unit air conditioner, and turned it up, full blast. He had been the last of their threesome, to make it back to the cabin, as he usually was. His work, in the prep kitchen often kept him late.

“Man, the rest of us are downwind, and you reek of onions.”

“Sorry, Robichaud — we can’t all smell like eau de motor oil,” Dale retorted. “Whatcha reading, Riley?” he asked turning to cool his other side.

Franklin’s face was creased, in concentration, but he paused long enough to flash the cover of the book at his buddy, before resuming his perusal of the tome.

“That’s probably her best one,” Dale remarked. “I didn’t like some of the others.” He left the AC, and got a bottle of cold water out of the fridge.

“I think a man wrote that, Chef Boyardee,” Robichaud smirked, from his bunk.

“Nope,” Franklin said, without looking up. “Ayn Rand was a woman.”

“What kind of name is ‘Ayn’?” Robichaud challenged.

“Finnish,” Dale replied, giving him a bored look. “But, it’s a pen name. She was Russian.”

“No shit?” Franklin asked, regarding Dale with interest.

“Negative feces. Where’d you get it, anyway?”

“Found it, in some of the library trash.”

“You gotta love a literary garbage man,” Robichaud piped up, again.

“Shut it, Grease Monkey,” Dale said. “Men are having a conversation, here.”

Robichaud’s digs had become increasingly obnoxious, since his bunkmate had been sent back to the Outskirts, having lost a challenge to one of the Noon Goons.

“Got you something, too,” Franklin said, reaching up to his personal shelf, above his bunk. “You’ve probably read it, though,” he added, with an apologetic look.

Dale took the tattered, dog-eared book from Franklin’s hand. It was a copy of Moby Dick.

“I have, but it’s worth reading again. Thanks, man.”

Franklin felt warmed by the other boy’s genuine gratitude.

“Worth reading, again? You guys are such losers.”

“I offered you one, too,” Franklin said. “It’s not like I left you out.”

“Steal me a deck of cards, and we’ll talk. I could at least play solitaire.”

“I didn’t ‘steal’ the books,” Franklin scowled. “I scavenged them, big difference. Once it hits the trash, it’s up, for grabs. If I see a deck of cards, in the trash, I’ll grab ‘em for you. We’ll all play rummy.”

How weird was it, Franklin wondered, that he had become the peacemaker, in the cabin? Not that he blamed Dale, for much of the discord. He had a big mouth, but he used it, in self defense. Robichaud was spoiled, and bitter, right now, so he was lashing out.

The ‘garbage man’ label didn’t bother Franklin, very much. Since his conduct had, so far, been acceptable, he was on the ‘clean’ detail that collected, not kitchen refuse, or other soiled waste, but discarded items that were no longer serviceable. Picking through these, was not only allowed, it was a tradition, and guys picked for each other, too, to swap, at the end of the day.

To date, he had brought home four posters, an old radio (that sometimes worked), a jigsaw puzzle that was missing two pieces (and had driven them crazy with laughter, when Olivett was still here), several car magazines, and, today, the three books.

Dale was a contributor, too. He had been allowed to bring home a half dozen chocolate cupcakes, tonight, because they had baked more, in the kitchen, than they had frosting to cover — plus three large peaches that would be overripe, by tomorrow. These would be a fine dessert, after whatever variety of chicken they would be given, for dinner.

Olivett had been a loss, to all of them, not just to Robichaud. He’d been a big boy, overweight, but he’d been surprisingly strong. He hadn’t been a budding physicist, but he’d been kind, and loyal, with an infectious laugh. It had been his loyalty to Robichaud, that had gotten him into trouble. Somehow, the latter had talked Olivett into taking his part in a beef with one of the Goons.

Ollie was big, but he wasn’t fast, and he had lost the fight. Hearing Robichaud whining, now, about how he could play solitaire, if he had a deck of cards, made Franklin want to punch him. He was sure Dale felt the same way.

Robichaud didn’t seem to get that they were all in this mess, together, to make the best of it, or the worst. He was a user and a cruiser. Even at a disadvantage, Franklin would be willing to bet that Ollie would make it to the City, before Robichaud, who was likely to be bounced from Suburb to Suburb, until he turned 18, and could drop out of whatever kind of school this was.

*******

“So, what do you think that flag at half staff meant, today?” Franklin asked Dale, as they sat on the cabin steps, after dinner. Robichaud, as usual, had taken possession of the TV, and was watching one of his stupid reality shows.

“I didn’t even notice it. I work inside, remember?”

“I guess you would have missed it. It was full staff, this morning, but half, just after lunch.”

“No one said anything, in the kitchen. Some politician probably died,” Dale shrugged.

“Probably.” Franklin sucked up the last of the iced tea, that had come with his evening meal, then took the lid off the cup, to eat the ice. It hadn’t taken twenty-four hours in the desert, to learn that you didn’t waste liquid, if you were smart, and ice was a luxury. He savored the coldness, for a moment, before he spoke, again, around a couple of pieces. “What are we going to do about him?” He jerked his head, in the direction of the cabin door.

“Nothing.”

“That’s cold, man. He’s a jerk, but he misses his bunkie.”

“Who would be here, if he hadn’t gotten him in trouble. Ollie’s worth three of him. What book did you pick out, for Robichaud?”

“The Innocents Abroad. One of the other guys said it was pretty funny. I thought he could use a laugh.”

“Did he even take it?”

“No.” He hadn’t so much as looked at it, in fact.

“See? That’s what I mean. He won’t even try. Doesn’t bother to do anything but mope and whine. I’m not going to go out of my way to make his life miserable, but I’m not bending over backwards for him, either. You may have something you feel like you have to make up for. I don’t know what — you seem like a good guy, to me. You can’t let him drag you down, man.”

“Maybe not.”

This didn’t sit well, with Franklin, however. At New Canaan, he hadn’t been popular, with his classmates. In an ironic twist, the two boys with whom he had been least popular, had done the most for him. Miller had done more than a little of his homework, in exchange for some protection from more predatory bullies. It had been a transactional relationship.

Ramirez had been different. He was an arrogant little cuss, who took no crap from anyone — Franklin, least of all. He’d turned out to be a real friend. He’d had every reason to write Franklin off, but he hadn’t. Had Guy ever made that escape he’d been talking about? Franklin smirked. He wouldn’t be surprised, if he had.

The point was, he hadn’t owed Franklin anything. Still, he had taken the time to get to the heart of Franklin’s problem, and he, Franklin, was a better person for it, he thought.

The last of their ice was gone from their cups, and the last of the light from the day, as well. Franklin stood, and Dale followed suit.

“You gonna trade books with me, when you finish?” Dale asked.

“You bet. My old man calls my Grandfather, ‘Ahab’, behind his back. I’d like to find out, why.”

Dale laughed, and opened the door.

**************

Guy

It was a surprise, to find Steph up and dressed, before himself, until he recalled that today was a big one. Galen was due to arrive, this morning.

She had taken her coffee out onto the balcony. As Guy poured his, he wondered if he should disturb her. Then, he shook his head. It was his job, to disturb her.

Steph turned her head, and smiled, when he stepped out.

“Morning,” she said.

“Morning. It’s really coming down, isn’t it?” he referred to the weather, as he sat down, and put his coffee on the table, the better to dig for a cigarette.

“From the Gulf,” she said. “Mom’s going to have to drive through some of this.”

“Only one way, though. She can spend the night, here. I’m glad Galen’s stuff got here, yesterday. It would have gotten soaked.”

Guy lit up, took a drag, and offered the cigarette, to her. Steph hesitated, then took it.

“I need to quit,” she remarked.

“We probably both should.”

“You don’t need to, but I should set a better example.”

“Which is why we both should quit. Unless, you plan to use me, as a cautionary visual aid.” His amused eyes belied his somber face.

“Not until you do something abysmally stupid.”

“Only a matter of time,” he grinned.

She laughed, and accepted the next pass of the smoke.

They smoked, watched the rain, and sipped their coffee in companionable silence, for a while.

“Have you given any thought to what we’re going to call ourselves?” Guy asked, presently.

“What?” Steph asked, confused.

“The agency. What are we going to call ourselves?”

“Something dignified, I suppose. ‘Ramirez, Howard, and Associates’, maybe.”

“I get first billing? It was your idea, after all.”

“Because, ‘Howard, Ramirez’ sounds like a proper name. Also, you’ve been the primary investor. You’re really going to argue about that?”

“Nah. I’m just yanking your chain.”

“Thought so. Did I just hear honking?” she asked, cocking her head.

“They’re not due, yet,” Guy countered, listening, as well. “It’s only eight.”

The honking came again, along with the muffled sound of the doorbell.

“I’ll check it out,” Guy said.

It was, indeed, the doorbell, he found, on entering the living room, and he hurried, still barefoot, down the stairs. They really needed a doorbell cam and speaker, he thought.

A big Fed-Ex van stood, in the driveway, and a uniformed delivery man was at the door.

“I have a delivery for Stephanie Howard and/or Guy Ramirez,” the driver said, with a slightly questioning tone.

“From?”

“Amazon. The order was placed by a Theodore Billie.”

“Theo — Oh, Ted. Ted sent us something?”

“A few things, from the looks of it,” the driver smiled. “Could I get your signature, sir?”

By the time Guy had scrawled his name, Steph had joined him, at the door.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Looks like Ted sent us some office supplies.”

This turned out to be an understatement. As Guy and Steph looked on, the driver and his helper wheeled in ten boxes of plain paper, four white boards, two desk chairs, two desks, three printer/fax machines, and assorted boxes of pens, pads, envelopes, staples and staplers, markers, paper clips, and lastly, one box marked as a gift.

“Christmas, for grownups,” Steph said, as they stood together in their lobby, after the men had gone.

“It is,” he agreed, draping an arm over her shoulders. “We should call Ted, once we get over the shock.”

“What do you think is in the mystery box?” She asked, after a moment.

“One way to find out.” He let her go, and reached into his pocket, for his knife. He cut the paper tape, and found a gift wrapped box, inside the main box.

In it, was a brass desk plate for each of them, engraved with their names, and door plates, to match. “Very nice, Ted,” Guy remarked, passing Steph’s set, to her.

“I feel like an impostor,” was her shocking response.

“How so? It’s your name. Are you one of those people who gets all weird, when the barometer drops?”

“Not me,” Steph smiled, shaking it off. “Get your drill, and let’s see how these look on our office doors.”

*******

“Neither of us knows how to thank you, Ted,” Steph said.

“It’s just tools, to help get you up and running. The sooner you’re open, for business, the sooner I can officially hire you.”

“No, man,” Guy said, “the name plates were in a gift box.”

“Well… I wanted to give you both something to thank you, for the work you’ve already done. I picked out several types, but Nina had the final say. She’s the one, with the taste.”

“They’re perfect,” Steph assured him. “It was so kind of you, both.”

“It was just a tiny thing.”

“About the job,” Guy began, “any news?”

“Nothing on Joseph Starkey’s whereabouts, but there was an interesting little item on the local news. His house burned down, yesterday evening.”

“Did you say —?”

“To the ground. It’s presumed to be due to faulty wiring, though arson hasn’t been ruled out. The news anchor did mention that he was wanted for questioning in ‘an unrelated matter’.”

“Damn, Ted, were you going to tell us?” Guy demanded.

“Eventually. The cops and the fire marshal are all over it, right now, Guy. There’s nothing you can do, until they finish their investigations.”

“It was arson,” Steph said.

“No doubt about it,” Ted agreed. “I don’t know whether to think one of Joseph’s enemies did it, or if he had one of Gordon’s fabled thugs do it, to destroy evidence.”

“Have there been any other repercussions, from Gordon’s death?” she asked.

“You’d be the first person I’d tell, if there were, since he threatened you, personally, Stephanie.”

Ted sounded a bit injured.

“Everyone’s still okay,” he continued. “I check in on the Rawlings family, every day, via Liam or Janice. They have cameras, all over the property, to ensure the welfare of the horses they board. Liam said they’ve added cameras to the outside of the house, too.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest —” Steph began, but Guy cut her off.

“I was thinking we need a doorbell cam, at least, just so we can yell that we’re coming. There are things you don’t think about when you live above the shop. Maybe you should consider tightening your security, too. Unless you plan to move into that great big house, I’ve heard about.”

“I never liked the place, and Nina has no fond memories of it, either. I figure I’ll close it up, until I decide what to do with it.”

“You just gonna stay there, in Creepy Hollow?” Guy demanded.

Ted laughed, at this characterization, of the neighborhood.

“I’m thinking it would be nice to find a place that we could adapt to Hannah’s needs. Wider doorways, ramps, grab bars; that kind of thing. I’d like to make life easier, for her. As for Nina’s studio, there’s no reason we can’t take it, with us. She’s very attached to that particular shed.”

“You have a full plate, don’t you?” Steph asked.

“I do, yeah. The good news is, Liam and Janice have agreed to take over New Canaan, in Starkey’s position.”

If he had been miffed at Steph, a moment ago, he was over it, now.

“The kids will miss you.”

“I trust the new Deans, to find someone just as good. Better, I hope. But, thanks, Stephanie. You were always a great student.”

“You taught me a lot — more than I learned in some of my college Lit classes.”

“I’ll take it,” Ted smiled. “And, I’d better let you go.”

***

“I stuck my foot in it, didn’t I?” she asked, when they had hung up.

“No. He’s keyed up, right now. You just wanted information, and he got a little sensitive. He got over it.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that, I guess,” she frowned. “You want some breakfast?”

“It’s closer to brunch, now. How do you feel about egg sandwiches?”

“How many do you want?”

“One, with two eggs. If you cook, I’ll start un-boxing some things, and move all that paper to the supply room.”

“Don’t lift too much, vato.”

“One box at a time, I promise.”

***

Steph

“It doesn’t seem right for me to just eat, and run, leaving you with the dishes,” Guy said, when they had finished their sandwiches.

“I don’t mind. I want to keep an eye out, for Mom and Galen. They should be here, any time, now.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Go. Put together chairs, or something,” she smiled, shooing him off.

When he was gone, she started the water, in the sink, and turned on the radio. Steph didn’t mind doing dishes, as long as she had music. Her preference was for oldies, that she could sing to, and before long, she was belting the lyrics of Open Arms, at the top of her voice.

It didn’t take long to wash two plates, two cups, a skillet, a turner, and the knife Guy had used to spread mustard on his sandwich – the barbarian. She had everything wiped down, and was in the process of scooping coffee into the downstairs coffee maker, and wondering why she had bothered to wash the cups, when one of her favorite oldies came on, and she turned up the volume, a bit, to listen to Johnny Rivers sing Swayin’ to the Music.

She sang along to this one, too, though not as loudly. It was preposterous, that she would even know the song, but it had been one that both of her parents had loved, and danced to. Steph became aware of Guy, behind her, a second before he spun her around.

“Guy —”

“It’s in the title. I don’t make the rules,” he grinned, pulling her close, to dance.

Steph was disconcerted, which was, of course, exactly what he wanted.

“You’re such a menace,” she observed, moving with him, nevertheless.

“You love it.”

He was right. She did. Whatever else he was, Guy was never boring. He wasn’t a bad dancer, either… Only — did he have to stare so directly into her eyes?

The song was past the bridge, when she noticed that they were no longer moving. He was going to kiss her, she realized. It wouldn’t be the first time, but it would be the first time she’d had the chance to make a decision, about it.

His lips were warm, and so tender upon hers, that they were almost the lips of a stranger.

Steph heard a soft ‘hem’, then her Mom’s voice. “I’m sorry,” she began, looking sheepish.

Guy didn’t spring away from her, though he did turn to face the voice, slipping an arm around Steph’s waist.

“Ruth —” he smiled. “Did you have a good drive, down?”

“Not bad, dear. A little wet, but traffic was light.”

“I’m… Sorry, Mom.” Steph stepped forward to embrace her mother.

“I surprised you,” Ruth chuckled, hugging her tightly.

“Where’s Galen?”

“That’s the thing, Honey. He’s in the car, and he won’t come in, until he sees that you’re actually here. Don’t look like that. Ten year-old boys get peculiar notions, sometimes. He seems to think this place is too big, to be yours.”

“That’s not good,” Steph sighed.

“It’s not that bad. He’s tired, and a little nervous, that’s all.”

“I should —” She looked at Guy.

“Yes, you should,” he agreed.

“My umbrella’s by the door, Honey. You’ll need it.”

***

Guy

“I really am sorry I barged in, like that,” Ruth said. “It was raining, and the door was open —”

“We were expecting you. Don’t be silly, Ruth. Steph just made some coffee. Please, sit, and I’ll get you a cup. Cream and sugar?”

“Just cream, milk, whatever you have.”

Guy smiled, and turned away, to fill her cup. They had met, only a handful of times, but he liked Ruth.

“My husband and I used to dance, to that song,” she remarked. “Turnabout is fair play, as they say — Stephie used to patter in, on her little bare feet, and catch us kissing, too.”

They both laughed, and Guy brought her her coffee, before returning to the counter to fill cups for himself and Steph.

“You think Galen’s going to be okay?” he asked.

“It’s just the long ride, and the weather. Stephie was like that, too, when she was a kid. He just needs to see his Mom’s face.” Ruth sighed, and added, “It’s good to be off the road, for a little while.”

“For the night, at least. Of course, you’re staying over — your bed’s already made, and Steph put out fresh towels, for you.”

“Well, if you’re going to twist my arm… To tell the truth, I was planning on getting a room, somewhere, if the weather stayed nasty, so I do have a change of clothes, with me.”

“Perfect.”

They heard the front door open, and the snick of the deadbolt, as Steph secured it, behind herself, and the owner of the young voice, who was with her.

“It’s, ginormous, Mom! Twice as big as Nana’s house.”

“Yes, and no. The business will be down here. We live in the top half.”

“Even so… Did everything get here, yet?”

“Yesterday. It’s all upstairs except for your outside things. They’re on the back porch. Want some hot chocolate?”

“Can I have a splash of coffee, in it?”

“Oh, God. You really are my son.”

“Nana lets me. Says it’ll put hair on my chest. I’m still waiting.”

They entered the kitchen, Galen smiling, and Steph looking enormously relieved.

“Hi, Guy,” Galen said.

Evidently, whatever odd fancy he’d taken into his head, earlier, had gone. He was all confidence, now.

“What’s up, Galen? Is that the latest model truck?”

“Yeah — I mean, yes sir. It’s my best one, so far. From the kit you sent me.”

“Can I see it?”

“The whole point was show it off.” He set the truck on the table, and Guy proceeded to inspect it from all angles, keeping his hands to himself.

“It’s glued eight ways to Sunday. You can touch it.”

Guy picked it up, spun the tires, opened the doors, and the hood, then closed them all. “That’s a fine job. You’ll be ready to build a real one, in no time.”

“What we should do, is put it in the dumbwaiter, and send it upstairs,” Steph said. “It’ll be safer, than carrying it.”

“This place has a dumbwaiter?” Galen asked. “Cool. Thanks, Mom,” he added, when she placed his hot chocolate, with a dollop of coffee, on the table, before him.

“You’re welcome.” She smoothed his flaxen hair, but stopped short of violating his dignity. “You’ve been giving him coffee?” She gave Ruth a mock stern look.

“Just like I used to give it, to you, Stephie. Only, you liked about three tablespoons of coffee, in half a pint of warm milk, as I recall.”

Guy and Galen both sputtered a little, at this.

“That’s so gross, Mom!” Galen exclaimed, giggling.

“Disgusting,” Guy agreed. He held out his hand to Galen, and the boy slapped him, five.

“For your information, it was closer to a fifty-fifty mix. You’re killing me, here, Mom,” she said, to Ruth.

“Remember how you used to laugh at your Dad, when he complained about being outnumbered? He always said it would come back, to bite you.”