Sociopath? (10 page)

There’s a second reason. If I went to college
this fall, Laney would only be 14. I know, Dad, that you’ve gone
into sort of semi-retirement and you and Mom have things planned
like more cruises. You deserve it after raising all nine of us but
it leaves Lane alone a lot in a 32-room house except for the staff.
It’s hard to think about her wandering around in this place by
herself like a lonesome little ghost. If it was me, I could do it
but, you know, she doesn’t have my, my…”

“Self-sufficiency, Rafe?” His father supplied
the words.

“Yes. So, I’d be living here for at least
another year to watch out for her. Beyond that, I wish you’d think
of just turning over some extra money to me for what she needs.” A
smile flickered across his face. “I usually always have to remind
you anyway when her lunch fees are due or her class is going on a
field trip and she has to have a check. You know, she made the
Cheer Squad for next year and there will be outfits to buy for
that. I’m not bitching about any of this, I’m just trying to be
practical. This way she can come to me and instead of being the
middle man, I can just take her shopping or write a check or take
her out to eat or whatever. It’s not that I’m trying to cadge more
money out of you, Dad. Out of the $500 a month allowance you
started giving me in high school plus other money I’ve gotten, I
have almost $10,000 in the bank but I may have to spend that this
next year if I want to play without having to get a job. And I
don’t want a job because I don’t want to be on a schedule. I’m
scheduled out for a while. So, that’s it. That’s what I have to
say.”

Renny looked at Magdelene. “What do you
think, Maggie?”

“It okay with me if that’s what he wants to
do. I’d feel better about us going off if I knew Rafe was here with
Lane. And he’s right, he’s the one she goes to when she needs
anything so it would probably be more convenient for all of us if
he handled it directly. One thing though, Rafie, next year, you
absolutely, positively enter Princeton. No more trying to talk us
into putting it off.”

Rafe nodded. “No, I won’t do that, Mom.”

Renny shook his head slowly. “I’m going to
agree to give you your year, Rafe. It’s against my better judgment
but it would seem rather hypocritical of me to go all concerned
father on you at this late date. I’ll up your allowance to $750 a
month. That will give you a little more spending money while you’re
out there “finding yourself”. Lane will start getting her own
allowance next year since she’ll be in high school. And I’ll give
you another $1,000 a month for her. You buy her whatever she wants
and needs and if there’s any left over, you can keep it for your
trouble.”

“You know I’d never slack on Laney to keep
extra money for myself, don’t you, Dad?”

“No, I’d never think of your doing that,
Rafe. But, let me be crystal clear, Son. As your mother said, this
won’t happen again. Next year at this time, you’ll be getting ready
to go to Princeton, sick of school or not. And your sister is just
going to have to learn to be less dependent on you. Just to focus
your mind, I want you to remember one thing. That Corvette sitting
out in the garage is titled in my name. I bought it and I can sell
it and that will be the deal - no college, no car. Have you got
that straight, Rafe?”

“Yes, sir, loud and clear.”

* *

“Okay, Lane, I bought you another year but
that’s all it will be. Dad wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about
it.”

“Oh, thank God, Rafe!” She kissed him all
over his face. “I’m so happy!”

“I know you are, Honey. And you know what
else? They put me in charge of the money to buy you what you need
so, Lane,” he gave her a mock evil look, “that means I control the
purse strings and you’ll have to give me a blow job whenever you
want me to write a check.”

She giggled. “Oh, Rafe, you know, I’d give
you a blow job any time you wanted me to anyway!”

He was running his finger tip around her
nipple. She had definitely sprouted this last year. He splayed out
his fingers across her breast. Not quite a handful but getting
close.

He turned serious. “Lane, you’re going to
have to start psyching yourself up for life without me. Next year
I’ll be leaving for sure, Dad made that plain. You’ll be almost 15
by then, almost grown up. You’ll need to start thinking about
dating and boyfriends. You know, Sweetie, what we have might always
be a part of our lives but it can’t be our whole life.” He ran his
hand down her long blonde hair. “Do you know you’re getting
beautiful, Lane? By next year, you’re going to have the boys
swarming you.”

“No, Rafe,” she was almost breathless. “No, I
don’t want to go with any other boys. I love you!”

“Think about this, Lane. What are you going
to do when it comes time for the Harvest Ball or the Prom? You’ll
want to do those things and you can’t take your brother as your
date.”

She buried her face in his chest. “Let’s not
talk about it, Rafe, please!”

“Okay, we’ll forget it for now.” He kissed
her. “Mom and Dad said they have several trips planned. They’ll
probably be gone about half the time and it will just be you and me
here so we’ll have us a high old time in our final year
together.”

Inwardly, he sighed. He knew he was going to
have to start weaning her away from him. That would sometimes hurt
her and he’d really hate it, but it was going to be up to him to
make sure she was ready to make it on her own when the time
came.

* *

Rafe lay on the raft soaking up the sun’s
benevolent rays. In the beginning, he’d asked for this limbo year
off mostly for Laney’s sake. It hadn’t really mattered to him one
way or the other. He actually could have just as easily gone to
Princeton from the get-go and got a year under his belt but since
he’d done it this way, he’d decided to just enjoy it and he was.
Besides spending lots of time on the boats (he’d entered and won
the Regatta this summer), he had a couple of other things going
that he was finding pretty entertaining.

First, since he had his own car now and could
go where he pleased, he’d gravitated to the auto races. The dirt
track at Pequin, about 30 miles west of Benedict, wasn’t anything
special in the scheme of big-time auto racing - just a quarter of a
mile of clay but watching the small winged cars barely missing
walls and each other, sliding through the curves at high speed
excited him. He knew he could drive as well or better than anyone
out there so he asked around about how you got to get behind the
wheel and was told to go talk to Chester Hughes. A former racer
himself, Chester owned three Sprint cars. He mostly competed at the
smaller tracks in the area. He could introduce Rafe to driving, if
he would.

Chester Hughes was in his middle 50’s. His
once-red hair was mostly gray now. His once- trim body now sported
an older man’s belly, his belt almost unseen below it. He walked
with a noticeable hitch in his stride. Still, the blue eyes were as
shrewd as they’d ever been.

“What makes you think it would be smart for
me to risk an expensive vehicle on a total beginner? I’ve never
even seen you here before and you think I ought to hand over a car
to you? You must think I’m fucking nuts, Kid.”

“I can win for you, Mr Hughes. Just give me a
shot. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

“I don’t think that’s a promise you’re in a
position to make.”

“Try me.” It wasn’t a dare, just a statement
of complete self-assurance.

Chester looked at him with narrowed eyes.
There was something about the boy, maybe it was his supreme
self-confidence, but something, that inclined Chester to go along
with him. Maybe the kid was full of shit and maybe he himself was
buying into a con job but what the hell, nothing ventured nothing
gained.

“I’ll give you one shot. I don’t necessarily
expect you to win your first time out but you’ve got to show me
something or that’s it.”

Rafe’s smile went flashing across his face.
“Deal,” he said, like it was all over but the shouting.

He loved the car from the moment he
maneuvered his way into the cockpit and the car seemed to feel the
same way about him. Getting into a sprint car is no easy task since
the driver has to work his way past the wings, the chassis bars,
the steering box, the torque tube….and when that’s done, he (or
possibly, she), is braced into an upright position, hard against
the seat, by a five-point harness, from which he can barely see
thanks to the high bonnet, the front wing, a rock screen (to keep
debris from entering the cockpit) and on top of all that, he has
almost no peripheral vision due to wrap-around seats and neck
restraint devices. Add to the rest, the “tearaways” on helmet
visors so they can be torn off to be replaced by a fresh one when
the visor becomes muddy and driving a sprint car turns out to
require a kind of extra sensory communication between man, track
and machine.

Starting one doesn’t even require a key.
First the driver must ensure that a) the car is in gear since
sprint cars don’t have gearboxes and b) that the fuel is turned on.
When those two things are done, a “push car” pushes against the
rear crash bar until the car fires.

Being direct drive, once the wheels begin
turning, the engine is also turning over. Now the driver waits
until he has the proper oil pressure (around 80 psi), then a few
more seconds until he knows that all eight cylinders have enough
fuel. Only then, does he hit the ignition switch, bringing his
engine roaring to life.

All this Chester showed Rafe prior to the
race. “You can see it’s not even close to just getting in that
Corvette of yours, turning a key and driving off.”

“Don’t worry, Mr Hughes, I’m a quick study.
I’ve got it.”

And he did. Chester had started him out in
one of the novice runs where he so out-classed his competition, it
wasn’t even close.

*

“Well, that was a waste of both our time,
Son, except to show me your potential. How did you get so good at
driving?”

Rafe shrugged. “I don’t know, I just have a
kind of a sixth sense about it.”

“We’ll try you with something a little more
challenging, next week. Don’t get cocky, Son, just because you did
so well this time. You were only up against the babies.”

“I never get cocky in advance, Mr Hughes,
only after it’s over and I’ve earned it.”

The result was the same the following week
and then the next when he was pitted against even more experienced
drivers. He really did seem to have an uncanny feel for how to
position his car for maximum advantage, how to maneuver it around
the turns, how to avoid trouble.

Chester Hughes began to follow him with
interested eyes. He thought this boy might have real possibilities.
And, Jesus H Christ, he made the race groupies cream their panties!
They looked at him like he was candy and they wanted to eat him all
up. Chester was not only an expert in cars but in marketing as
well. He knew that a winning driver was great for business but a
winning driver with sex appeal was a hundred times better.

“You might could start to be a little cocky
now, Son.”

Rafe nodded and his smile went gleaming
across his face. He probably knew as much about marketing as
Chester Hughes.

* *

His second year-off diversion was completely
different although some of the results were the same. A friend of
his brother, Gabe, had contacted him at Gabe’s suggestion. The two
had jammed a lot together when Gabe was going through his guitar
phase. Now, the friend, Duke, had a rock and roll band, Balmer
Strut, that played mostly in Baltimore and DC, and sometimes,
Philly. It was highly acclaimed and in great demand for country
club dances and the private parties of representatives and senators
and other government bigwigs. Their rhythm guitarist had just quit
and Duke had asked Gabe if he’d be interested in filling in until
they could find a permanent replacement. Gabe wasn’t, being fully
engaged with the concert piano now and besides, he had a girlfriend
living with him in his apartment in Arlington and she’d throw ten
kinds of fit if he told her he was going out on the rock and roll
circuit. When Gabe mentioned his brother, Rafe, Duke was
doubtful.

“A 16-year-old kid, Gabe?”

“Just try him out, Duke. Trust me, he’s not
your average 16-year-old.”

“Does he play as well as you?”

Gabe answered with a rueful smile, “probably
even better although if he knows it, I don’t think he cares.”

So Duke called him and the idea piqued Rafe’s
interest. He met them at Duke’s studio in Baltimore. He brought
along one of the guitars Gabe had left at Heron Point, not owning
one of his own.

“Tell us some songs you can play, Rafe. We’ll
find some we all know and see how we sound together.”

Rafe reeled off a list of titles. Duke
nodded. There were several the band was familiar with.

“I’ve never played with a group before,” Rafe
warned, “only for myself, so I’m not sure how I’ll do with that
part of it.”

“Well, let’s just make a run at it and see
how it turns out.” He named an old ZZ Top tune, When the House is
Rockin’. It was like most of what the band played, down and dirty
bluesy rock.

He did fumble around for a while, trying to
get the hang of coordinating his playing with band mates but then,
he hit his stride and he was off and running, fingers flashing over
the strings, in perfect rhythm with the rest.

“I think you’ll do, Rafe, if you’re
interested. We usually play most weekends.”

“Sounds like fun, at least for a while until
you can find someone permanent. I’ve only got this year and then
I’ll be heading off to college.”

“We’ll have to help you with the songs you
don’t know but we can add them back into the mix as you learn
them.”