Stotan! (15 page)

“Wasn't me,” Lion said. “I was home eating when it happened, whenever that was. Where were you guys?”

I said, “We were home eating too.”

“Yeah, well, what the hell's that mattress doing tied to the back of your Jeep? I got witnesses to that. Right, guys?”

Several baseballers affirmed that they were witnesses to the fact that there was indeed a mattress tied to the back of Lion's Jeepster.

“This is a camper,” Lion said. “I use that mattress all the time traveling around the country. Sometimes I even use it at drive-in movies, but that's another story.”

O'Brian started to say something else, but Jeff interrupted him. Very quietly he said, “Marty, your car's sinking. Do you want us to help you get it out before it disappears, or do you want to stand there and yell at us?”

That was when O'Brian noticed Lion's winch. He started to call Jeff a name, but caught himself in mid-word and let it go. Everybody knows that Marty
O'Brian's favorite thing in the world is his Mustang. He must have had to deliver a lot of Aryan papers to pay for that thing. “Yeah, help me get it out. Maybe you guys didn't do it. Yeah, help me.”

“How much money you got?” Jeff said.

Marty's eyes closed and his head shot back. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “You're gonna charge me. That's extortion. Screw you, I'll call a tow truck.”

“At the rate it's going down,” Jeff said, “it may be hard to find.”

Marty looked into the water. His car was sinking.

“How much money you got?” Jeff asked.

“Five bucks, on me,” O'Brian said.

“Empty your workout bag.”

Marty emptied it and his wallet fell out. “Lemme see,” Jeff said.

Marty took a deep breath and threw him the wallet. There were two twenties and three ones. “Forty-three bucks,” Jeff said. “What do you think, Serbousek? Can we help him out for forty-three bucks?”

“It's up to Nortie,” Lion said.

“Forty-three bucks was just what I was about to say,” Nortie said. “Mr. Redden was wrong, there
are
coincidences in life.”

We made the same deal with Dolan for thirteen bucks and came away from twenty minutes' work fifty-six dollars richer.

Jeff sat in the back the whole time, probably freezing to death in the twenty-eight-degree weather, without moving a muscle. When Dolan's car was safely up on the pavement, he said, “You guys better take me home. That's about all the excitement I can take in one day.” I wrapped him in my coat and sat in the back with my arms around him, crying where no one could see me. When I first put the coat around his shoulders, I felt how frail and weak he was getting, even through his own coat; and he kind of leaned into me. I thought my heart would break.

We got him home okay, and he told us to leave him outside and get the hell out of there, because his dad would be madder than hell and probably had the cops out looking for him right that minute. “Dad will blame you guys for taking me,” he said. “Don't worry about it, I'll bring him around.”

It killed me to watch him make his way up the sidewalk like an old person, so unsure of every step; so goddam tired.

 

So Jeff helped us get even and forced O'Brian to kiss our collective butt in the process. That's what he's good at. It was so good to have him back, even if just for that brief time; and I think it was good for him too.

But that wasn't the end of the swim team's dealings with Marty O'Brian that day. Nortie and I went out late that night—maybe around 10:00—for a pizza at the Savage House, and I swear it seemed like someone was setting this all up as a movie or something, because, lo and behold, there at the big round table in the back sat Marty O'Brian and John Dolan and several others from their entourage. Before long they were glaring and pointing; looked like hard times. I was pretty sure that even with all my self-defense skills we'd be in a world of hurt if they decided to come after us, but I made up my mind then and there that the second it even
looked
hot, I was taking O'Brian
out.

Nortie and I ordered a pizza and a small pitcher of Coke and sat in a place where we could see them easily. Then I thought about Nortie, hanging in there with me, but surely scared to death of having to go through one more beating. “Listen,” I said. “Go call Max. Tell him to come on over and we'll buy him something good to eat. And tell him to hurry.”

“What should I say? I don't know what to say to him.”

“Tell him O'Brian's here with a mob and I told you to call and get him over here quick. That easy enough?”

“That I can handle,” he said, and went to the phone.

I'm not sure what Nortie said to Max, but he was there inside of ten minutes and the flavor of things changed significantly. He sat down, poured himself a little Coke and took a slice of pizza. “Everything okay?” he said, and we said now everything seemed fine. Max took a couple of bites of the pizza and a drink of the Coke and he seemed to consider things; then he got up and walked over to their table. He moved in real close to Marty, his feet spread slightly, completely centered. He squatted down beside him and said, “O'Brian, if Nortie Wheeler has any more trouble with you—any trouble at all—I'm going to hurt you. I'll put you in the hospital.”

Marty was caught between those places that have become so familiar to him—fear and embarrassment. “You're a teacher,” he said. “Is that a threat? You can't threaten me.”

“That is a threat,” Max said. “It's a threat I'll carry
out. It's a threat I
want
to carry out.”

“I have witnesses,” O'Brian said. “I'll take this to Mrs. Stevens.”

In a flash Max kicked out the legs of Marty's chair. Marty landed on the floor. Max brought him to his feet with two fingers directly on the carotid artery in his neck. O'Brian's eyes bulged. “Hey…”

“Don't talk to me,” Max said, and led him to the phone by the throat. He reached into his pocket, took out a quarter that he placed in the coin slot and commanded O'Brian to dial. “747–5266,” he said, removing his fingers from Marty's throat. Marty turned and tried to run, and Max kicked his legs out so quick I didn't see. Marty landed hard on his shoulder and groaned. Max said, “Get up.”

Marty got to his feet and came back to the phone.

Max said, “Dial.”

They listened on the receiver together. A voice on the other end said, “Gail Stevens speaking.”

Silence. “Tell her,” Max said.

Marty stammered something unintelligible, and Max put the mouthpiece to his own mouth. “Mrs. Stevens,” he said, “this is Max Il Song. I'm down here at the Savage House with Marty O'Brian and some of
his friends. He wants to report that I'm threatening to hurt him if he doesn't stay away from Nortie Wheeler. It's true.” Max looked at Marty. “Talk.”

Marty started to say something, then stopped.

“Max,” said the voice on the phone.

“Yeah?”

“You tell Marty O'Brian to report it to someone who cares. Okay? See you in the morning.”

Max hung up the phone.

I have serious doubts that Nortie will ever have trouble with Marty O'Brian again.

March 3

Well, a week until State. Actually, it's not even that. It starts Friday; we had our last double dual meet this weekend, so now all there is to do is taper and give it our best shot. I'm doing all I can to clear everything out of my mind but the meet. There's a printout circulated every Wednesday with the twenty fastest times in each event statewide, and I'm right up there in the 500 free. In fact, I should be second or third when it comes out this week, and the top four times are within two seconds of each other, so with the right amount of psych, I could be right there at the finish. Nortie's got the fastest time in the state for the 200 individual medley and he's
second in the 100 free; he's in the top six in three others, so he'll have a choice of events. Lion's tenth in the 100 'fly and, surprisingly enough, sixth in the 100 free and eighth in the 50 free, which is a race that depends mostly on your start and your turn. I'm alive in the 100 and the 200 free too, so it's possible that we could have an all-around great meet. Too bad we don't have Jeff—we'd have a dynamite 400 free relay. Boy, I'd give anything if Jeff were okay.

All troubles with O'Brian are over. He bitched and moaned all over school the day after the Savage House incident with Max—even took it to the baseball coach—and no one paid any attention to him, except to say he should probably watch his step, that messing with Max II Song could be a very dangerous thing. In fact, his coach told him if there was
any
more trouble whatsoever from him, he was off the team; that he didn't care what kind of talent O'Brian has—if he can't meet minimal standards of decency, he's gone.

My love life, on the other hand, is not resolved, and the only thing I can do is put it off until after State. I thought I could clear it up once and for all by throwing myself on the mercy of Max's wisdom—go in and spill my guts about Elaine and Devnee and the whole nasty
mess, get his advice, follow it and
voilà!
Aquaman is out of the quicksand.

Fat chance. The thing I forgot about Max is that he never gives advice that way. He asks you questions. He asks you a
lot
of questions. Then he makes you give yourself advice. Going to myself for advice about love is like going to Dirty Harry for a quiche recipe. You're not likely to get a good one.

Max smiled and said, “You know, Walker, I'm a pretty good person to come to for jock problems, and maybe even a little light Zen, but I may not be in the top ten when it comes to male-female relationships. You saw the results of my latest efforts at midnight in the middle of Montana.”

I told him anyway. He nodded his head several times while I talked about Devnee and the number of times I've tried to tell her how ambivalent I am about our relationship—that number is approaching double digits—each time with the same result. But his eyebrows rose a few centimeters when I talked about Elaine.

“How do you picture that affecting your friendship?” he asked.

“I picture Elaine ripping my throat out when I tell her how I've been seeing her lately.”

Max smiled and nodded. “That could happen. Given recent events with Peter Wilson, I can imagine Elaine might not be in the best possible place to hear it,” he said.

“Yeah, you're probably right. But what do I do?”

“What do you
want
to do?”

“I want to forget all this crap and go swim fast.”

Max said, “That would be safe. And probably smart. But it might be more easily said than done. Feelings don't come and go on command. Here's a hard one: can you honestly picture you and Elaine as a couple right now?”

I thought about it a second, pictured Elaine in my letter jacket, us holding hands in the hall, smooching in the back of my Duster—all under the watchful eye of my fellow mermen. “Nope,” I said.

“That could be your answer.” Max's eyes softened. “Walker, I think if there's a time for you and Elaine, it's down the road a piece.” He saw the look on my face and said, “Don't worry about Peter Wilson. Elaine will outgrow him before the end of summer. Either that or he'll get invited over to her house and meet her dad.”

I laughed and shrugged. “Yeah, well, what about Devnee?”

“What
about
Devnee?”

“No, no, no,” I said. “That's
my
question. You are my faculty advisor. I supply the questions, you supply the answers.”

“Is she serious about you?”

“God,” I said, “who knows? I've always been afraid to ask her; afraid she'd say yes.”

“That could be important information. Maybe she's just having a good time like you and there's nothing to worry about.”

I wondered why I wasn't having a good time. “What if she
is
serious?”

Then Max said what I'd come to hear. “I have only one piece of advice about relationships, and I learned it from bitter experience. Be straight. Anything that's unsaid is a lie.”

“This is a tough town,” I said, looking around his office.

“This is a tough town.”

So, armed with that and determined to do the right thing, I called Devnee and asked if she'd like to go over to Dolly's for a Coke. I picked her up at 8:00 and she looked stunning, but I fought through that.

“You ever think about what happens after this
year?” I asked after the waitress delivered our Cokes and my fries.

“Sometimes,” she said. “It's kind of scary, though, because I never know what you want. I've been kind of holding out to see where you get a scholarship. I guess I can go pretty much anywhere I want.”

It's true. Devnee has a 3.89 grade average. She could show up on the doorstep of any college in the country the day before registration and they'd take her.

She said, “You know, Walker, you're not the easiest person in the world to read, and I don't like to be pushy, but it would really help me to know what you want out of this.”

“You mean you'd go wherever I go?” I asked.

“Within reason.”

That answered my question about whether or not she was serious.

That was the point at which I was supposed to say I wasn't sure where I stood in the relationship; that a lot of the feelings I'd had when we started going together had changed; that I needed space, as the jargon goes. First step on the way out.

Anything that's unsaid is a lie.

“Boy, I haven't thought much about it,” I lied. “Let
me see what happens after State, what kind of offers I get. Then we'll talk about it, okay?”

Devnee said okay and came over to my side of the booth. She kissed me on the cheek and started playing with my leg under the table.
Some
of the old feelings came back up.

That night I lay in bed in my dark room, staring at the ceiling, wondering what kind of jerk I'm going to grow up to be. Devnee's been nothing but straight with me since the first time we went out, and even when I was head over heels in love with her, I always held back some, probably because we're not really a lot alike. I mean, she's always been apart from my life of swimming; I kept her separate somehow from my most intimate friends. Like now I hardly ever discuss Jeff with her because I just don't think she can feel what I feel about him. She knows I'm hurting, and she rubs my back and soothes me, but I don't think she can touch the depth of my fear and my sense of loss. If I thought she could, I would love her. Elaine can; she feels it just like I do. But she's with Mr. Wilson, and for now nothing's going to change that.

As for Devnee, I can't be the cause of her pain right now. I just can't stand to do that. I know in my
head that Max is right, that I need to say it all, but I'm just stuck.

 

We were supposed to be banned from seeing Jeff for at least a month by his dad, because he was so pissed at us for taking Jeff with us on our bombing mission, but that lasted only a couple of days. Jeff convinced his dad that it was his doing and warned him that he'd be pretty sorry if Jeff croaked without being able to see his friends. He did have a couple of bad days afterward, though, so our visits were cut short. God, I just can't imagine nothingness where Jeff is. What's going to take up his space? We've talked it to death, no pun intended, and nothing about it changes.

Max called us—Elaine included—into his office yesterday before the afternoon workout, I think to help us with some of that. “Remember at the end of Stotan Week, when I talked about what I thought the lessons were?” he asked, and we nodded our heads. “Remember I said when it comes time to meet the Dragon, you'll know the depth of your well? Well, the Dragon is here. Nothing they've done with Jeff seems to have made much difference in his condition, which is deteriorating, slowly but consistently.”

A collective sigh went out of us.

“I haven't talked much about this with you for a couple of reasons,” he said. “I wanted to let you sit with it awhile, let you see how you really felt, and I had to do the same for myself. Jeff is real important to me; I've known him and his folks for a long time.”

Max put his head down and stared at the floor, then looked up at us with clear eyes. “The point is, the Dragon is here and he seems to have come in the form of Death. He's ugly. And, guys, what you learned about yourselves during Stotan Week can help you here. The magic wasn't in gritting your teeth and enduring the pain with no show of emotion. It was in letting go; accepting reality; what
is,
as they say. That's the only way you'll find strength to deal with this. It doesn't mean Jeff can't go into remission or get better or whatever, but so far nothing like that has happened. We all need to accept that Jeff may be gone. I know you've spent the past month asking why, but ‘why' isn't the question. All that's important is that it's so.”

Max stood up. “I'm here if anyone needs me. More likely than not, you'll need each other.” He shook his head. “Guys, I wish I could make it different.”