Little Did I Know: A Novel (32 page)

I disengaged from my luscious girlfriend and crawled out of bed carefully, threw on some shorts, a sleeveless T-shirt, and running shoes. I whispered in Veronica’s ear that I’d be back in thirty minutes. “If anyone calls or shows up while I’m gone, they can wait,” I told her. “And if they become hostile or difficult, tell them to eat shit and die.”

“I will,” she said, “but only if you kiss me first.” So I did. Then I left through the back door and ran toward the ocean.

During my run I had a lovely encounter with Janet Kessler and ASK. They walked back to the compound holding each other closely with a blanket wrapped around their shoulders. It was clear they had spent the night together, with a multitude of stars as their comfortable. They made no effort to avoid me. In fact, they seemed happy and proud that I had discovered them together. ASK was one of my best college friends and had just realized a long-pursued dream. Whatever good fortune awaited him, he had perhaps found his life’s springboard.

The ocean has a certain aura at dawn. Quiet and soothing, it makes everything seem possible. It also helps you put your problems in perspective when you compare them to the size and scope of the unending horizon. Some were arriving at shore with the expectation of magic and some lingering after a miracle night.

I worked my body hard, my mind and heart filled with optimism and a positive attitude for the day that awaited me. Attitude is one of the rare aspects of your life you are able to control, and I was choosing to be upbeat. I sprinted the last three hundred yards down the shoreline and then jogged back to the compound ready to get back into the game.

The driveway was crowded with cars. The redwood table at the center of the compound was surrounded by people who looked like they were waiting for a free buffet. I slowed my jog to a fast walk so I could take in the scene. It was well before seven, but the place was teeming with people and drama.

Gary and Susan Golden, Officer Richardson and Chief Warren were seated at the front of the table. Secunda, despite the muggy July morning sat among our guests wearing his trademark Hickey Freeman blue-linen pinstripe suit and smoking his usual Cohiba stogie. Dr. Rosenstein looked a bit wan, as usual, as if he needed a good night’s sleep. On the other side were seated a municipal official and the
Patriot Ledger’s
reporter Marc Seconds. The official wore a prominent shoulder patch that identified him as a Plymouth building inspector. JB, Officer Tommy, Veronica, ASK, Janet, and Sidney rounded out the rest of the table.

“Good morning, all,” I said with forced cheer. “You’re all early, but we’ll figure that out together. Sorry about the weather. Give me a few minutes to clean up and I’ll be right out to greet you properly.” I walked quickly back to my room to change, feeling the eyes of some of our guests shooting bullets into my back.

I returned within ten minutes, freshly scrubbed. No one had moved from the table, and the mood was still heavy. The rain continued pungent and sweet. But before I could join them, Sidney intercepted me and put a firm right arm around my shoulder, walking me away from the action. He smelled good, as if he were wearing a high-end cologne, and he carried an energy that suggested he had been up for hours.

“Hey, college boy, you being good to Veronica? Shes talks about yous all the time. Shes happy.”

“Good,” I said. “I’m glad she’s happy. She makes me feel the same way.”

“Nice. Now, Sammy, yous got a lot of shit at that table. Yous can play them or you can get played. If theys play you, then it’s a bad morning, ’cause they win and losing sucks.”

“I agree, Sid. Winning is always better. What’s up? Who’s on my side?”

“I am, Veronica is, and I bet a bunch of your college pals are wit ya. And the cop, that Dudley Do-Right. That’s enough. Just play it close, no yelling, no punches, all good.” Then he turned me so I was facing my guests.

I noticed a difference from the usual demeanor and dress of the Golden family. I was surprised by how attractive Susan looked. She was dressed down in form-fitting jeans and a crisp, Brooks Brothers daisy button-down. Her hair was combed without any trace of sex. Her makeup and outfit were age appropriate. She was a lovely midforties woman.

More interesting was Gary. He looked more preppy than tough, wearing navy work pants and a white golf shirt tucked in to reveal his sculpted body. He had replaced his work boots with penny loafers resplendent with shinny copper coins. He didn’t seem menacing, and he even brought a hint of a smile. It was a nice change; I wanted to run out and buy doughnut as a gesture of my appreciation. Then the Plymouth official walked purposefully toward me.

“Mr. August, my name is Martin Duggan. I am the senior building inspector here in Plymouth County.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.
Why
am I meeting you, sir?”

“Unfortunately, I have a list of violations that unless repaired and inspected by this afternoon will force me to close your building immediately.”

I noticed two of the cast, company members Karen Ross and Julie Watkins, leave their rooms and head toward breakfast. The door swung closed behind them, slamming hard against the doorstop. A phone rang several times in the office, then stopped. Rain washed over the compound, giving the moment some production value.

“May I see this list, Mr. Duggan?”

“Yes, sir.” He sorted through his briefcase.

Secunda got up and moved a bit closer to me. ASK stepped a couple of strides away from Janet and began to listen more intently. There was a sense of ill feeling in the air, and the compound became inordinately quiet, like the OK Corral before the first shot was fired. Gary Golden got up from the redwood table.

Mr. Duggan handed me a typed formal-looking sheet of paper with no official city heading. Scratched across the top of the page was
PLYMOUTH COUNTY BUILDING DEPARTMENT
. Anyone could have written it, and I was sure that someone with deceitful intent had. I looked at the document for some time. There were inspections listed, but with no dates. In addition, the inspectors’ signatures were illegible.

I returned the paper to Duggan. “So that’s it? This log with no dates or names or actual specific violations entitles you to come here and threaten to close my business?”

“I assure you, Mr. August, there is no threat here. As the watchdog for the safety of this county, I am prepared to shut your doors.”

“‘Watchdog,’ Mr. Duggan, is an interesting choice of term. May I see that list again?”

The building inspector obliged. While I studied it, Duggan offered a solution. “Due to the timing of the situation and the tremendous losses you might incur as well as the poor press you might receive, may I suggest another alternative, Mr. August?”

“You are the watchdog, sir. You can suggest and do anything you’d like, except shit on my grounds, because I’d insist you clean it up or eat it, depending on what your suggestion is.”

That cast a pall on further conversation. I looked at the paper again, but only saw red.

“There is no reason to be rude, Mr. August. I am only doing my job.”

“Right. And again, what is that job?”

“I am the head of the Building Department here in Plymouth County and I am assigned to keep places of assembly safe.”

“Okay, you’re right, I should not be rude, at least until I hear your suggestion.”

“Thank you. If you pay a violations fine of six thousand dollars, we can consider the matter closed.”

Who would believe this guy? Don’t we have rehearsal in a few moments? Maybe I can get Ellie to fuck him in lieu of the six grand. What are all these spectators going to do when this plays out? Does Julie Watkins ever wear a bra to breakfast, and why haven’t I noticed before what big breasts she has?

I looked at Duggan through narrowed eyes. “Do you have a boss?”

“Yes, sir. I do.”

“Does he know you are here this morning?”

“No, Mr. August, he does not. I have a job to do and he is a busy man. Your situation is not the only one on our docket today.” For the first time since he had uttered a word, Mr. Duggan gave me attitude with more than a modicum of edge. It became clearer what an unadulterated scumbag he was.

“So your boss doesn’t know you have shit for brains and are here to extort me? He doesn’t know you are a complete douchebag. The only thing you are leaving here with is a few broken bones, a formal complaint to the mayor, and a report to the paper that you are a corrupt dirtbag.”

Duggan didn’t say anything.

“Cat got your tongue, dirtbag? Or has the watchdog got it?”

I moved toward Duggan intending to pick him up off the ground and throwing him onto the street. As I took my first step forward with a red face and violence pulsing through my veins, ASK ran toward me at full speed and kicked me square in the testicles. I was too incapacitated to say a word and fell unceremoniously to the ground in a ball of misery. Through a haze of pain, I watched and or heard the following:

ASK dropped to my side and said, “I’m really sorry, but if you hit that guy you’d be in jail, and I need notes for tonight’s performance. Also, you’re much bigger than I am, and that was all I could think of. Sorry.”

Dr. Rosenstein knelt next to me and his prescription was, “Breathe. Testicles are very resilient, and I imagine yours are more than most.”

Susan Golden approached Duggan and handed him sheet of paper and a pen. “Sign this, you bastard, and sign it now, quickly.” Duggan perused it with dispatch and did as he was told.

Gary Golden got chest to chest with Duggan and shoved an eight-by-ten envelope at him. Then he grabbed the front of Duggan’s shirt and said in a rather intimidating whisper, “Take this money, you prick, and get lost. Consider it a gift from my grandfather, but don’t go thanking him. If I hear you come back to August with anymore bullshit, here is some good advice—don’t. You’re not even allowed in here if you buy a ticket. You are a lowlife prick. You have until the count of ten, and then I mess you up.”

Duggan took the envelope and leaned over a bit to where I was slowly recuperating on the damp ground. “Thank you, Mr. August. May you have the best of luck the rest of your summer.”

Gary Golden punted him a good fifteen yards with a stunning kick to the ass. Duggan stumbled a bit but made it back to his car, climbing in and driving off into the misty morning.

Secunda surveyed the situation. He took a draw on his stogie then with a big smile said, “Well, that was interesting. How about we take a brief respite for breakfast and then continue. Would someone help Sammy off the ground and find him a comfortable seat out of the rain?”

“It might help if he sat on a pillow,” Elliot suggested. ASK, perhaps out of guilt, said, “I’ll get one,” and he ran off to find a cushion.

I noticed it was just past seven o’clock. What else could this day bring?

F
ifteen minutes later I lay on my back under the eave of the theater, protected from what had become a steady, cold summer rain. The company had just witnessed a series of events that was not in the fine print of their employment agreements. Nevertheless, it seemed to pass quickly, and the morning din in the dining room rang with spirited talk of impending rehearsals.

Veronica had brought me some breakfast: orange juice, soft-boiled eggs, and crispy, well-buttered English muffins. She told me I was a hero for my “restraint,” lacing the word with sarcasm. “If it wasn’t for ASK, there would have been no restraint,” I pointed out.

She jumped all over that. “You were an idiot, Sam. You wanted like so many other morons to lead with machismo. You’re smarter than that. So actually ASK was the hero. Maybe he should be rewarded with deviant sex.”

I was chastened. I should have been smarter. Think first. Get the facts and don’t lead with my chin.

Jojo visited the temporary infirmary and told me I had notes and rehearsals in an hour and that after this morning’s distractions I had better be at my best. When I asked her to line up a call with my dad at six in the evening, she softened and said, “Sure. I’ll tell him to expect to hear from you.”

“Oh, and Jojo, could you send a telegram to Mr. Foster, Ellie’s dad. I think his first name is Steven. See if he can find some time in his schedule to talk with me. Ten minutes is all I need.”

“Sure. And we’ll keep that between you and me, right?”

“Yup.” That was all there was to say.

Sidney pulled up a folding chair and sat facing backward on it, resting his chin on the back of the chair. He made no effort to stay out of the elements, and rain spotted his shirt.

“College boy,” he said, “yous a good solid kid. Yous tough and unafraid, which is both good and bad. Yous can only win so many battles in life. Only so many. Even if yous fucking Jim Lonborg, you lose, particularly on short rest. Take a blow. Decide what is important and fight those fights. Then you win. The ones you pay no attention yous might lose anyway, probably. Yous a winner kid, but only when you figure that part out. Call me if yous need me. And when yous feeling better, stop by for a drink. Oh, and keep being nice to my Veronica sweetie, otherwise yous lose everything. Love ya, kid.”

He walked off into the rain like Shane. I wanted to shout,
“Come back, Sid!”
but my balls still hurt. I rested in silence for a bit. The rain pelted the deck and was relaxing in its exactitude. My attitude was all that mattered. I could control that. I was committed to making it work today.