Archives:
June 24-June 30, 2007

June 24, 2007

Grandma picks up the card I discarded, and the stack of cards underneath it. As she sets to work, I know that I made the wrong play.

“So,” she says as she lays down her first canasta of the hand, then stacks it up, “when's your girlfriend coming to town again?”

“I don't know,” I say, keeping my eyes on the cards. “I'm hoping sometime soon.”

“Well you can't just sit around and hope. If you want a girl to visit, you've got to ask her.”

“I think I know how to handle that,” I say with a smile.

“You make me wonder sometimes,” Grandma says, still sorting through the cards, laying more on the table. I have a feeling the hand might end on this turn and start to count up the value of the cards in my hand. “She's a sharp girl—and pretty too. You don't want to let that slip away.”

“I know Valerie's smart, and she's beautiful. But I got her to go out with me in the first place, didn't I?”

“What name did you just say?”

“Teri,” I say, pausing for a moment, wondering if I did say another name.

“Just checking,” Grandma replies, not pressing the issue any further. She lays down the last of her cards, wrapping up this hand, and beginning to count up her score.

June 25, 2007

A mountain of a man shows up in the office this afternoon. Natalie's away, taking a vacation with her family in celebration of the end of the elementary school year, meaning I'm alone in the front office to meet him.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Yeah,” he says, taking off his red Coca Cola baseball cap, revealing his bald scalp as he curls the brim between his hands. “I have an appointment.” He tucks the hat beneath his left arm and reaches out an enormous hand. “I'm Charlie—er—Charles. Charles Benson.”

“I'm Preston Burns,” I say shaking his hand, as I recognize the name. He was the Goodmans' gardener, and the last one we know of to talk to Cheryl. “If I'm not mistaken, you're here to speak to my father.” It's remarkable how my hand disappears in Charlie's as he shakes it.

He looks a little confused. “I'm supposed to talk to John Burns.”

“Right,” I nod. “Let me get him.” I get up and knock on my father's door.

“Come in.”

I pop my head in, to where my father is scribbling on a legal pad, his feet propped up on his desk. “Charlie Benson is here.”

Dad swings his feet downward, and pops up out of his chair. “Excellent. Let's get him on in here he says, advancing toward me.

I turn to ask Charlie to come in, but my dad's already there by that moment. “Mr. Benson. Please come on in.”

Charlie ambles in slowly, still twisting the hat in his hand as he walks in. I back off, out of his way, and my father shuts the door once he's inside.

June 26, 2007

“So Charlie thought Darryl was guilty?” I ask, sitting at Natalie's desk while Dad scans the morning paper.

“He didn't say it outright,” Dad says. “He was careful not to say anything he thought would make his employers angry.” He turns the page. “What he did say was that Cheryl was a wonderful woman—that she was beautiful, and that she was nice to him. Then he said that Darryl wasn't as nice.”

“Darryl was mean to him?”

“You met Charlie. It's hard to get grip on how he interprets things might relate to reality.”

“Gotcha. So I guess that means his testimony won't stand for much in court.”

“It's hard to say,” Dad says, folding paper over and setting it down. “People could see that he's not a reliable witness. Or, they could think that a simpleton doesn't know enough to lie to contort things, and take everything he says as gospel.”

“I guess that makes sense.” I turn the paper around so I can check out the headlines.

“Anyway, I'm going to follow up with him in a few days, and see if I can get anything more out of him. If I can at least establish that he didn't think John was homicidal, it'll be a step.”

“I'll talk to Valerie about him too,” I volunteer. “You know, see if she has any insight about how to gain his trust, and get him to talk more openly.”

Dad nods. “Good call. I'll talk to Darryl about that too.”

June 27, 2007

The cigarette smoke grows thicker with each hand of poker we play, until it gets to the point where it hurts to keep my eyes open. Adam's friends don't seem to mind as half of them continue to puff away, and the most recognition they give the smoke is to fan at it with their hands once every ten to fifteen minutes.

“Presto, you're the big blind,” Adam says as he starts dealing out the next hand.

I set out two ten dollar chips from my ever dwindling stack. I haven't been getting many decent cards tonight, and I'm reluctant to bluff with this group, unsure of how they would take it if they learned the truth.

Valerie started the night sitting behind Adam, occasionally hugging him from behind, but each time he sort of shrugged her off. I wonder if he invited her here tonight, or if she just showed up. Either way, I don't understand why she doesn't just leave.

In time she comes to sit by me, though. With my low chip count, I start playing pretty conservatively—folding a lot of hands. Valerie and I get to talking while I wait for the next hand to start.

“So my dad met with your gardener the other day,” I say, pitching a three and six off suit.

“Charlie?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

She sort of shivers. “He always sketched me out.”

“Really?”

The hand ends and the guys pass all of the cards to me to shuffle, as the guy next to me begins to deal the next hand with a second deck of cards. I mix up the cards as best I can, then look at my new hand.

“Small blind, Preston ,” Adam reminds me.

I toss a chip in, and moments later, my cards again. All the while, Valerie sits behind me, like an obedient dog, knowing when not to interrupt, waiting for her owner's attention. It kind of disgusts me.

“Charlie had this way of looking at me and my mom,” she goes on. “He would just stare at us. Finally, my mom had my dad say something to him about it, and he acted like he didn't know what he was talking about. But you met Charlie—he just got all defensive, and we all knew what was going on.”

“So you think he was infatuated with you and your mom.”

“If that's what you'd call it,” she says, sticking her tongue out. “Anyway, he toned it down a little after my dad talked to him, and wouldn't even look at us if he was around.”

The hand ends with Adam raking in a large pot. “Hey Val,” he says, stacking his chips. “You want to stay out of Preston 's ear there so he can deal a hand?”

I turn to look at Valerie, and she looks like she's been struck. She gets up, heading out of the room.

Adam shakes his head. “Women, eh?”

I nod slowly and start to deal the next hand.

*

“I didn't know you smoke.”

Valerie turns, a little startled. She was out here alone, leaning against a black Sebring convertible. “I usually don't,” she says, flicking away some ashes. “Just feels nice every once in a while.

“Right,” I say, leaning against the car next to her.

She takes a long drag, then offers the cigarette to me. I wave it off.

“Have you ever woken up one day, and wondered how you got to where you are? Like how the fuck you let something happen? Or why something hasn't changed?”

I vaguely remember Larry Schmidt saying something to that effect when he was trying to get back into Taylor . Somehow, his words didn't ring quite as sincerely as hers.

“I think everyone feels that way sometimes,” I say, conscious of how little help I'm providing.

She flicks the whole cigarette out into the lawn, and puts her head in her hands. “It's just like I need a break, or something.”

“A break from what?” I think about putting a hand on her back or something, but for the time being, just stand there, an inch away, not touching.

She pops up, waving her hands out. “A break from this town. From my house. From fucking Adam. From my life.”

She looks at me, not crying, but her eyes big, her face a little bent.

I have an idea.

“I don't know if this would do anything for you, but I've got this college buddy who has a band.” I'm not sure if she's remotely interested, but she watches me, still looking right in my eyes. “They're going to play a show at The Palace Friday night. And, you know, if you just wanted to go, and hang out for a while—it might be fun.”

June 28, 2007

“ Preston , my man, how are you doing?” Dave asks as we clasp hands outside Vinnie's pizzeria. It's really strange to see him here, as I sort of mentally dissociate people from college and places from Shermantown.

“Not bad at all, man. You guys have any trouble finding your way here?”

“None at all. Thanks for the directions.”

“And you're sure you found a decent place to stay?”

“I don't know about decent, but a friend of a friend offered up her basement. It'll do,” he says, patting my back. “Now come on in here, we already ordered some pizzas.”

The band is all inside. Nick and Bud are playing some sort of arcade style video game in the corner, while Tony cheers them on. Big Lenny sits at a booth on his own, leaning his back against the window, sipping from an enormous cup of soda. A couple of girls who hang around with the band sit at another booth, giggling about something or other.

“So tell me something,” Dave starts. “This place we're going to be playing at—The Palace—what can we expect?”

“Honestly?”

Dave nods.

“It's a shithole. Dirty as hell, crappy sound. Should be a decent crowd, though, because they'll let anyone in—fake ID, no ID, whatever.”

“Well all right then,” Dave says, “sounds like my kind of my place.”

June 29, 2007

“I've never been here,” Valerie says, stepping into the chatter and white noise of The Palace. She looks a little out of place, somehow cleaner than anyone else in the bar. She wears a long-sleeved maroon shirt, jeans and boots with a little heel to them. I wonder if she's ever been to a place like this anywhere.

The bouncer wasn't even checking IDs tonight, so I didn't bother sneaking Valerie in through the back door, instead paying the three dollar cover charge for us both, and walking right in. There's a pretty good crowd here, many of whom I imagine came out for the purpose of hearing The Axis. Bands don't play here often, and this rare occurrence feels sort of like an event—the sort of defining moment the young people of Shermantown wouldn't want to miss.

I get myself a beer, and an Ameretto sour for Valerie. It's Teri's ‘girly drink' of choice, and I figure she'll like it. She smiles as I hand it to her. It's the same tight-lipped smile she gave me in the car, when she said Adam didn't know she was coming out tonight—a smile of doing something you know you're not supposed to do.

We find a little corner table, missing its chairs, and pick it as a spot to stand and set our drinks down. We chat, as her white skin dips to a shade of pink from her drink.

Before long, a portly man, the oldest in the bar by a long shot, takes a microphone in front of the makeshift stage area. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming tonight,” he begins, to some applause. “Without further ado, I present to you The Axis!”

The bar comes to life, as folks bolt toward the stage for the band's first song, a cover of The Goo Goo Dolls' “Let Love In.”

“I can't see them,” Valerie complains. She downs what's left of her drink and heads toward the crowd as I follow after.

Standing toward the back of the crowd, Valerie starts to tap her foot, and shake her hip a little. We clap with everyone else when the song is done.

“All right,” Dave says at the mic. “It is good to be on the road, and it is good to be here in Shermantown tonight!” He takes out his black, thick-rimmed glasses and puts them on as band launches into “Buddy Holly.”

“I love this song!” Valerie says, beginning to bounce up and down with the rhythm of it, in rhythm with Dave, hopping on stage, in rhythm with the crowd, eating all up.

I start to bounce as well.

Valerie backs into me, so her back is just touching my chest. It feels as though she's going to tip back, so I put a hand on her hip. She turns, for just a second, wearing the same smile she's shown me twice before tonight.

June 30, 2007

I roll over, groggy as hell, to pick up my cell phone. “Hello?”

“Hey Preston ,” Teri's familiar voice comes out. “Were you still in bed?”

I roll again, so I'm lying on my back. “Yeah. I stayed out really late last night.”

“Well I should say—still in bed at two in the afternoon,” she says.

I turn my head, looking at my clock radio to verify that it's that late.

“But then, I guess I shouldn't be too surprised,” she goes on.

“Eh, you know me,” I say, rubbing my eyes. Memories from last night come rolling back to me. I remember Dave and the band playing two encores. I remember dancing with Valerie, our second drinks in our hands, then our third. I remember introducing her to Dave after the show, and him inviting us to party with the band. I didn't think that was a good idea.

I remember driving Valerie home and talking to her about all sorts of random things—about life at college, roommates, how college was different from high school, and so on. I remember the dashboard clock showing us it was 3:30 before we said goodnight. I remember her squeezing my hand before she got out of the car.

“So I thought you were going to call me after the big show, and tell me how it was,” Teri says.

“Yeah, I'm sorry. It was just a late night, I was exhausted when I got home.”

“Did you want me to call you back later? I can, if you're still tired.”

“Na don't worry about it.”

“OK,” she goes on, “so tell me all about it.”