The Wisdom of Perversity (29 page)

When he came into the restaurant, Jeff's face had looked boyish. No more. He stared at Brian with the cold, depthless rage of an adult, tossed his napkin on his plate, and stood up, about to go.

Brian's voice apprehended him. “You walk out and I'm going straight to the
New Yorker, Vanity Fair, New York, Rolling Stone,
every magazine still standing and pitch a long and
very
detailed piece about the curious connection between Jeff Mark, Richard Klein, and Sam Rydel.” Jeff had twisted slightly to depart, but he remained, feet rooted. Brian continued idly, as if musing aloud, “I'll even offer to indemnify them against a lawsuit. Not that I think they'll be all that nervous. After all, as I'm sure your lawyer can tell you, in a libel suit the truth is an excellent defense. I realize that as Harriet's son it may be hard for you to appreciate this nicety, but my story is actually the truth. Well, perhaps ‘truth' is too grand a word. But at least my story is factual. Not only factual. It qualifies as evidence. I've got Julie here to confirm every word I write about Richard Klein, the fascinating mentor of the great auteur, Jeff Mark.”

Jeff's torso remained committed to departure, but his eyes slipped back, like a hawk seeking prey, to fix on Julie. Brian's eyes went to her too. “Right, Julie?” Brian prompted when her reverie went on too long.

“You're wrong, Brian,” she informed him, having had time to think it through.

“What?” Brian looked as if she'd stuck a knife in his back. Jeff smirked.

Julie said to Brian. “It wasn't overkill of Jeff to offer bribes and also make up that Klein is gaga.” She looked up at Jeff. “You wanted to give me a way to rationalize taking a payoff to cover up for a sexual monster. I could take your bribe and kid myself I wasn't doing anything really bad. That was a clever psychological ploy.”

Jeff's face fell. A busboy and waiter had hurried over to say “Sir?” in an anxious chorus. Jeff waved them away.

Brian said, “If you're going to take your paddled behind out of here, don't forget your pillow. And send my best to Miss Katherine Stern next time you see her.”

Jeff staggered, a hand steadying himself on the chair. “Oh shit,” he said.

“Why don't you sit down, Jeff?” Brian said. “Nice and easy, of course.”

“You wouldn't,” he whispered through gritted teeth.

“Why not?” Brian snapped at him. “Why the fuck not? If you sue me for slander, then it'll all come out. Every sordid detail.”

Jeff straightened, face flushed. “Do what you want. You want to destroy my marriage, humiliate my children, go ahead. You want all my shit and all your shit to come out, fine. I'll find out what's up with you, a fifty-year-old bachelor. You want us both to be national jokes, go right the fuck ahead.” He picked up his suede pillow and left.

Brian blinked. He watched his old friend disappear and blinked again.

“Brian.” Julie tried to make her voice gentle, but she was angry and getting angrier. They had agreed that when it came to Jeff and his cover-up for Klein and Rydel they would be partners, not keep secrets. But he had kept something about Jeff from her. “Brian, you have to tell me right now what that was all about.”

“I thought I had him.” He lowered his head. “I thought I had him,” he repeated, heartbroken.

Mother's Helper

April 1966

JEFF STUCK HIS
head out his front door, letting it close against his neck, a decapitation.

No one waiting for the elevator. No echoes from the stairs.

He retracted like a turtle, a Ked wedged to keep the door ajar. He turned the Fox bolts so the door won't shut behind him. Now
GO
!

Runs at top speed. Past dark elevator porthole. Around stairwell to incinerator chute. Jerks black handle down, tosses in yucky Jockeys, and releases. He spins a one eighty, skids on black and white tiles.
BANG
! Chute closes as he passes barred window, black bannister, gray steps, tiles again, porthole again, front door propped by Fox lock looms, shoulder into door,
BOOM
! Shut and lock. Home free.

“Jeff!” She sounded like the parrot in
Treasure Island.
His mother's beak grew, squawking down the hall until it found him. “You just go out and come back in? Where are you? Come here.”

He didn't answer, walked slowly toward her bedroom, Keds toe to Keds heel, contemplating the paradox of February 29. Billy Zucker doesn't have a birthday three years out of four. Sure, his dumb parents celebrate anyway on the twenty-eighth, but that's cheating. Like Mom said: “He's really just two years old. And he acts like it.” A two-year-old in fourth grade. Crazy. What if everyone except for people born on February 29 disappeared on the twenty-ninth? What if, to make up for not having a birthday for three years, for twenty-four hours on the twenty-ninth they got to have the world to themselves? So boss!

“Jeffrey, don't play games. Get in here. Don't make me get out of bed. I'm in agony.”

No school, no parents, no stupid grown-ups: leap year kids could have a great birthday with everyone else gone for a day. Yeah, but no friends to have fun with.

“What is it?” he asked as he crucified himself in his mother's doorframe. He was like Samson chained to the temple columns in
The Illustrated Bible.
He could pull down the pillars.
Mom would die, smelly Mrs. Greenblatt, and the ugly little dog in 2A too.

“I'm telling you to clean your room today, no arguments, move that castle or whatever it is you and Brian built and put it in your closet—”

“It won't fit in the closet!” Jeff shrieked.

“Then take it apart neatly or Hattie will have to break it up. She has to vacuum your floor. It's like the Sahara of dust in there.”

“How do you know that?” Jeff asked. “You haven't been in my room since the Cretaceous period.” He had learned that phrase at the Museum of Natural History when he visited with Cousin Richard—the only good thing about that day—and used it whenever possible.

“I went in there just now and nearly choked to death,” his mother said. “What is that thing you and Brian built supposed to be?” She was wearing her neck brace today. The cream-colored hard plastic rested on her shoulders, covering her bosom, ending right up against her chin, where it pinched some loose neck skin. She looked like a weirdo version of an armored knight. When she wore her neck brace, she was in an even worse mood than usual.

“It's Alpha Centauri, an Earth colony in outer space.”

“Was it his idea?”

“My idea,” Jeff said. It was both their ideas, but he was tired of his mother's always telling him Brian is so bright. “I rolled a paper into a cone around the magnifying glass Dad brought me from the store. Looking through my magnifier-telescope, you can skim over the blocks and LEGOs. They get big and strange, just like another planet.” A civilization, Brian kept bugging him to call it since that was their idea, to build a better civilization on another planet because Earth had been destroyed in a nuclear war. Brian was right, but annoying. “Civilization. Another civilization,” he repeated to his mother, hoping that might convince her to spare it. They needed a name for their civilization, he kept telling Brian; calling it civilization was dumb.

“Put as much of it in the closet as you can. And put back the things you took from the kitchen. You can rebuild it with Brian when he comes over. He's coming over today, right? You told me he's keeping you company today.”

Instead of speaking the lie, Jeff nodded.

“Good. Cousin Richard said he would take you both out to lunch when he stops by. He was very disappointed Bri didn't come to the museum after he went to all that trouble to arrange a special tour.”

Defeated, Jeff walked to his room, moving slowly, the slowest ever, intent on making sure that he placed heel to toe with no space at all, a line of Keds. He didn't look up until he could see Alpha Centauri. The wooden blocks, LEGOs, frying pan, Heinz baked beans cans, and Matchbox cars looked pretty good even without squinting through the paper cone and magnifying glass. Best thing they'd built so far. He was very sad to destroy it. He felt like crying, but he wasn't a cry baby.

He decided he wouldn't destroy Alpha himself. Maybe he'd leave that to Hattie. This was a terrible, bad, really bad thing. No way he and Brian could ever put it back together and make it look so good. If only he could take a photograph. No! A Polaroid. Then he and Brian could rebuild later that day! Cousin Richard owned a Polaroid Land Camera. Such a boss name. Sam had used it . . .

But he didn't want to think about that anymore.

What if he owned his own Polaroid Land Camera!
Wow. Instant pictures. The way I saw it. Just now. You say I didn't. There it is. I win.

It was itching again. He backed up against the doorknob and rubbed. That didn't reach the spot. He scratched through the denim with his hand, but even touching it that way felt really yucky.

The phone rang! This early had to be Bri. “I got it!” he shouted.
GO
!

Races out, past pirate's cave. “
TAKE IT IN HERE
!” the parrot screeches.
GO
top speed. Faster than fast. Skids
WAY OUT WIDE
from hall to living room, staggers on rug, starts to . . .
FALL
. . . catches dining table corner, and . . .
DOESN'T
!

The phone had stopped ringing. Ma must have picked up.
GO
!

Top speed to white kitchen phone,
FLIPS
receiver way
UP
, catches it neatly in palm. “Bri! Come up!” he yells loudly, hoping to break her nosy ears.

“Stop shouting!” Ma shouted from bedroom extension. “Brian, where did you say your father was taking you?”

“To visit my grandma in the Bronx.”

“You're going to church?” she accused.

“On Wednesday?” Brian sounded confused.

“Don't Catholics have Mass on Wednesdays?”

Jeff couldn't stand this. “Bri! Come up. Alpha Centauri is in danger. We have to save her.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Ma said. “So you won't be here for lunch, Brian?”

“I can't come up today,” Brian said.

Jeff spoke really fast before Ma could stop him. “Bri, before you go to your grandma's come up and help me put Alpha Centauri away so we save as much of it as we possibly can, okay?”

“Good-bye, boys. Jeff, don't stay on the phone. I have to make a call.” On the line, there was clatter, like dishes being stacked, his mother hanging up. Maybe. He had seen her bang the phone like that against the night table, then hold it up to her ear, listening in while his father was on the kitchen extension with Uncle Hy. So he chose his words carefully: “Ma says I have to get it off the floor so Hattie can vacuum. You have to help me take it apart neatly so we can rebuild.”

There was a silence.

“Bri?”

“Is your cousin there now?”

“Just me and Mom. Dad's at the store, like always, and Ma has to go out at ten. It's not a school holiday for them.” The boys had all week off, a combination of Passover and teachers' break. Already two days of the heaven of no school were gone.

Brian asked his mother for permission to come up for an hour, got it, and hung up.

Jeff opened the front door. He angled himself to see a portion of the stairs. He tried to guess which part of Brian would appear first. He decided the head.

But no.
Bri's left arm appears first, pulling him up the bannister. Just the arm. Then head. Body. Legs last
—the opposite of what you'd think!

Brian was all dressed up for a visit to his grandma in gray wool pants, white shirt, a stupid-looking tie, too long for his body. His hair was all slicked down. He looked like one of the Little Rascals.

“Mom said I can't get my clothes dirty so I can only tell you what to do,” Bri said while they walked to his room. Brian called in a hello to Harriet. She stupidly asked again about why Brian was seeing his grandmother on a Wednesday.

When they reached Jeff's room, they stopped and stood and stared at their creation of wooden blocks, frying pan, two Heinz cans, LEGO buildings, Matchbox cars and plastic soldiers. It took up three-quarters of the room's floor. Brian said, “Oh! I forgot. We should call our civilization New Athens.”

“Why?” Jeff demanded.

“Cause it's an Earth colony founded by America. Athens was the first democracy and it's a real democracy. All the citizens make decisions, like in Athens, no leaders. So—New Athens.”

Jeff thought the name was very boring. Brian could be like that, like a teacher, no fun. “So how we gonna save it? Ma said I was allowed to put as much as we could in the closet.”

Brian tried to make a Bronx cheer. Sounded more like a fart. “That won't work.”

“I know,” Jeff said. “We should just let Hattie destroy it.”

“Wait!” Brian got excited by some idea which Jeff could tell he really liked because as he explained it he kind of hopped and flung his arms about like a spaz. Brian inspired was a goofy sight. “We could just slide this part under your bed and separate this side, put that in your closet,” he said. “Then see? We'd only have to—”

“Break up the highway and park!” Jeff got it. “That's the easiest part to rebuild.”

Brian was so eager he forgot his promise to his mother, got down on his fancy pants' knees, and carefully began separating a third of the wooden blocks from the rest. Jeff concentrated on making sure the frying pan, cans of beans, LEGOs buildings and Matchbox cars were completely on one side of the separation. His bed had been stripped by Hattie so they didn't have to lift blanket or sheets to clear a path to push it under the box spring. They flanked the severed section, ready to push together. “On three,” Jeff said. “One, two, three . . .
GO
!”

Doesn't slide. Tumbles. Blocks clack hard on floor, a
BIG
crash.

“
WHAT WAS THAT
?” his mother shouted after the crescendo: frying pan whacking into a Heinz can, denting it badly. Jeff squinted, narrowing his vision to the
NZ
of the label and the pathetic dent.

“Fuck,” Brian said. He kicked over the one tower still standing, a Heinz can surrounded by blocks, topped by a plastic soldier.

Jeff put out his hands and arched. He dove at New Athens like it was a swimming pool. He kept his eyes open until he hit. His hand plowed through most of it and broke his fall. One of the blocks caught him in the cheek. That hurt. New Athens collapsed gently around him. He rolled onto his back, a Matchbox car digging into his spine; he looked up at Brian.

Brian grinned at Jeff lying in the wreckage. “It's the end of civilization,” he said, and that was so funny Jeff couldn't stop laughing the first time he tried to.

Brian said, “We'd better clean this up.”

“Let Hattie do it,” Jeff said, thinking that would serve Mom right because Hattie would be angry. Maybe charge extra for staying longer.

They went to the kitchen and drank Yoo-hoos. They argued about last night's
Batman and Robin
episode (Brian thought it stupider than usual; he thought it was pretty funny) until the phone rang and Ma called out that Brian had to go home.

After Bri left, Jeff went to his room to fetch the new Batman comic, which featured the Riddler. He didn't really like this issue because riddles were like school problems: no fun, just tricks to make you feel stupid. Maybe he would like it better the second time. Fetching it, he dashed in and out of his room, eyes half shut so he wouldn't have to look on the wreckage.

He settled down to read in the living room. Hattie came back from the laundry machines in the basement. She had a blue hairnet over the stiff mass of rusty brown hair that looked like it had been ironed. She stopped for a moment in the foyer with her basket of folded sheets and stared at Jeff. She seemed about to ask him something.

Did she count the underpants? That's stupid, she doesn't know how many I have.
He returned her suspicious glare without any trouble: she didn't know anything. Sure enough, Hattie never said a word. She groaned, bending her round body over as best she could, picking up the laundry and heading toward the bedrooms.

He moved to the kitchen to get himself a second Yoo-hoo. That was one too many. His mouth was too sugary and his stomach got tight—he felt a round little ball inside, a Spalding pinky, like when it wasn't happy. He wanted to be in his room but didn't want to watch Hattie pick up the end of civilization. He had to keep shifting on the twine bottom of the kitchen chair because he was so itchy up in there.

He read all of the Batman again and didn't like it again.

“Your mama wants you,” Hattie said in a very sad voice. He hadn't heard her come into the kitchen. She didn't look at him. She waited until he got up and walked past her, making sure he went.

Ma was going to make him put New Athens away. He had known all along that would happen, but he wanted her to have to make him. For doing it himself, he could get something out of her.