The Lock Artist (12 page)

He had arranged to pick me up at the liquor store right after dinner. I was waiting outside when he arrived in his red Chevy Nova with the plaid seats. When he got out of his car, I pointed at myself and made a driving motion.

“No, I’ll drive.” He looked over at Uncle Lito’s old Grand Marquis. “Come on, get in.”

I pointed at him, made a drinking motion, spun my hands around both ears, then made like a man driving like a maniac. He got the general idea then. So that’s how we ended up in the Grand Marquis. It was total style, of course, with the two-tone finish, light brown and dark brown. Big dent in the back fender. Just over a hundred thousand miles on it, and smelling like a cigar factory. It was the only way to hit a summer night in Milford, Michigan, on the last day of school.

We drove to the house of one of the girls in our art class. There were a dozen people sitting around in folding chairs, looking bored. We hung around a few minutes, then moved on to the next. The sun went down. The air was turning cool.

We kept making the rounds and ended up at another art student’s house. It hadn’t been a winning formula yet, but here, finally, things were looking up. There were a lot of people there, for one thing, and the growing darkness seemed to be a signal to everyone that the real party was just beginning. There was loud music coming from the backyard, smoke rising in the sky from a barbecue. I found my classmate and shook her hand, didn’t flinch when she wrapped her arms around me. She whispered in my ear that I could have anything I wanted in my life if I kept working hard enough. The kind of thing you say only after a few beers on an empty stomach.

She dragged me into the backyard, where the music was so loud it hurt. She was into obscure techno music, as I remember, so all the kids were dancing away or voguing or whatever the hell they were doing. Another six or seven kids were jumping up and down on a trampoline, bumping into each other and almost falling off the damned thing. The one oblivious adult stood flipping burgers at the grill, a thick pair of acoustic headphones on his ears.

My classmate tried to yell something to me. I couldn’t make out what she was saying. She gave up and pointed to a group of girls who were standing in the far corner of the yard. Nadine spotted me and waved me over.

I caught an elbow in the ribs as I made my way through the crowd, from somebody doing some kind of robot dance. When I finally got to the other side, I saw that the girls were all standing around a huge silver tub filled with ice and beer bottles. Nadine separated herself from the other girls and came to me, one bottle in each hand. She was wearing shorts and a sleeveless blouse, looking more like a tennis player today than an art student. She handed me a bottle.

I opened it and took a sip. It was cold enough to taste good, even if alcohol was still not high on my list. You see enough drunken wreckage walking into a liquor store every day, it sort of puts you off the stuff. But tonight . . . What the hell, right?

She tried to say something to me. I couldn’t hear her over the music. I leaned in close, and she spoke right into my ear. “It’s good to see you here.” I could smell her soft scent as our heads came together. I could feel her breath on my neck.

We stood there for a while, watching everyone jumping around and having a great time, or just standing on the fringes trying to look cool. I didn’t see Griffin anywhere, but I figured he could take care of himself for a few minutes. The stars were coming out. I had only drunk half the bottle of beer, but it went down fast and it was enough to make me feel a little dizzy. It wasn’t a bad feeling.

Maybe best of all, it was okay to be standing next to Nadine and not saying anything. Everyone in the party was effectively just as mute as I was, because nobody could hear a damn word you were saying anyway.

Nadine went to get another beer for herself. I couldn’t help wondering how many she had already had before I got there. When she came back to me, she put her hand on my arm. She left it there. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do in response.

The music stopped for a moment. The sudden silence roared in my ears.

“Mike,” she said.

I looked down at her.

“Come here.”

I know I must have looked a little confused. She wasn’t more than eighteen inches away from me. How much more here could I get?

She grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me closer. Then she kissed me.

“I’ve been wanting to do that,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

I didn’t respond in any way. I just kept looking at her. The music started again, just as loud as before.

The other girls she was with pulled her away from me. She waved at me to follow them. So I did. I found Griffin on the way out, gave him a little head bob. Follow us. When we were back in front of the house, away from the assault of the music, she told me that they were all going to another party and that I should follow them. I stood there feeling a little bit embarrassed by the Marquis.

Nadine got into her car. One of her friends rode shotgun, and the four other girls piled into the backseat. A couple of them looked like they were on their last legs already, and it wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet.

Griffin and I got into my car and followed them across town.

“What do you think?” he said. “Is tonight the night?”

I looked over at him.

“You and Nadine? Hot summer night?”

I shook him off, but I couldn’t help noticing how her kiss was still right there on my lips.

We were headed west, out toward the proving grounds. Nadine turned down a dirt road, and as I drove behind her, her car kicked up a cloud of dust in my headlights. Finally, she pulled off, parking on the side of the road behind a line of other cars. As I got out, I could see the cars stretching all the way down to a long driveway. This was obviously the A-list party of the night.

“Where the hell are we?” Griffin said. “Whose house is this?”

I put my hands up. No idea.

“You really want to go in?”

I looked at him. Like, what do you think?

“I suppose we could check it out.”

We caught up to Nadine and her friends. I walked beside her. She kept brushing her hair back and tucking it behind her ears. I was terrified of the idea of trying to hold her hand. She kept smiling at me.

The house was made of logs, not a rustic-looking Abe Lincoln log cabin but one of those nicer log homes with lots of windows and high beamed ceilings. It overlooked a good acre of lawn that ran all the way down to the tree line. Next to the house sat an empty Michigan State Police car.

There were citronella candles burning every few feet to keep away the mosquitoes. There was music playing, of course. I could feel the thump of the bass notes as we went through the front door, but thankfully the volume was only turned up to nine this time. Instead of weird techno, it was good old-fashioned white boy rock music. Van Halen, Guns N’ Roses, AC/DC. There were so many people in the house, there was barely room to stand.

Nadine’s friends formed a wedge and started leading us through the house. I saw a photograph on the wall of a state trooper in full dress uniform, standing proudly next to his German shepherd. There was an open sliding door ahead, past the dining room table. That seemed to be our target.

It was just as crowded outside. There was a huge banner mounted on a clothesline, at least ten feet long and four feet wide.
MILFORD KICKS ASS
, in big block letters. With a drawing of a foot kicking an actual set of buttocks, in case you didn’t get the point. Right below the banner, there was a keg on ice. Nadine and her friends all grabbed red plastic cups and got in line. She handed me a cup, and I stood next to her. Then I felt a strong hand on my shoulder.

“Hot damn! It’s my man, Mike!”

It was Brian Hauser. The House himself, the senior hotshot whose lock I had opened back in the fall. Right before he and the rest of the team got trounced in the big game against Lakeland High School. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt with every shade of blue and green ever invented. It seemed like he was taking a little bit of extra effort just to put his words together tonight.

“How’s it hanging, man? I’m glad you made it! Who you got here?”

He took a quick scan. Nadine and her friends. Griffin.

“Okay, then,” he said. “The party’s complete now. Hey, can I talk to you for a minute? There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

I looked at Nadine and Griffin.

“Will you ladies excuse us for a second?” he said to her. “And you, sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Griffin.”

“Yeah, it’ll just be one moment. We’re gonna step into the VIP Room here. You go ahead and hit that keg. We’ve got a few more lined up, so don’t worry if it’s running out.”

Brian led me away to his “VIP Room,” which apparently was the upper level of his back deck. There was an actual red velvet rope strung from the posts. Brian untied the rope from one post and let me through, then retied it as we headed up the steps. There was a patio table up there, with a big green umbrella and padded chairs. There was a hot tub. Two other seniors were sitting on the edge, their feet in the water. Trey Tollman, the quarterback, and another guy from the team named Danny Farrely.

“Hey, look who I found,” Brian said to them.

Danny nearly fell over himself as he came barefoot from the edge of the hot tub.

“Michael, my man!” Like I was his long lost friend.

“You know Danny and Trey,” Brian said. “From the team.”

“I want to tell you something,” Danny said. He pulled me away from Brian and wrapped his arm around my neck, the sickly sweet smell of hard alcohol on his breath. “You’re okay. You know that? You really are. You’re like an inspiration to me.”

“Okay, leave him alone,” Trey said. “You’re slobbering all over him.”

“Come over here,” Brian said, pulling me back. “You want something to drink? Trey, you got any of that punch left?”

“Hell, yeah,” Trey said. He grabbed a cup from the table and poured a tall drink from the pitcher sitting next to it. “Give this a try. It’ll fix you right up.”

I took the cup from him and tried it. It tasted like regular old fruit punch to me.

“That’s the Sucker Punch,” Brian said. “Don’t drink it too fast, eh?”

“God damn,” Danny said. “The artist himself.” He went back to the edge of the hot tub and put one foot back in. “The fucking Rembrandt of Milford. Fuck, this water is hot.”

“Don’t be a pussy,” Trey said. “You’re not going to melt.”

“I don’t see
you
getting in.”

“Yeah, well, if anybody’s getting naked back here, it sure as hell ain’t gonna be just us guys, I can tell you that.”

“The VIP Room! When are we gonna get some girls up here, anyway?”

“So let me ask you,” Brian said, brushing his friends aside. “You remember that day you opened up my lock?”

I nodded.

“How did you do that?”

They all looked at me intently, like they were actually expecting me to answer. I put my hands up.

“It’s complicated,” Brian said. “Is that what you’re saying? You just have to know how?”

“He’s an artist,” Danny said. “With a paintbrush or a padlock.”

I took another sip of the drink. It was sweet and it went down easy. The deck started to move under my feet. Just a little bit at that point. Not the full-blown Tilt-A-Whirl.

“So then, let me ask you this,” Brian said. “Can you open up other kinds of locks?”

I gave him half a shrug, half a nod.

“Like key locks? Can you open those? You probably need tools, though, right?”

“I bet you he can,” Danny said. “He’s an artist, I tell you.”

“What kind of tools would you need?” Brian said. “I mean, I’m just wondering.”

I didn’t have my homemade tools with me. I should have just waved him off and tried to go find Griffin and Nadine. Funny how it’s hard to change the subject when you can’t speak, though. You can’t help but be a captive listener.

“If I get my old man’s toolbox, will you show me? I think it’s just amazing that you can do that.”

“He’s amazing,” Danny said. “He’s the amazing artist of art and . . . something. Wait.”

“Will you shut up with that, already?” Trey said.

“You’re just jealous because you’re not amazing.”

“Here, come on down,” Brian said. “I’ll get the tools.”

He led me back down the stairs, practically towing me behind him. Danny and Trey followed us. I tried to find Griffin and Nadine, but I couldn’t see them anywhere. I was about to go inside, but Brian blocked my path as he came back out with a big metal toolbox. I started to feel a little bit nervous about this. I took another couple of sips from the Sucker Punch. Probably not the best idea in the world.

“So what do you need here?” Brian said. “I’ve got no clue.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and felt myself starting to float away. I opened my eyes and knelt down next to the toolbox. I pulled out a long thin screwdriver to use as a tension bar. I rummaged through the rest of the tools, but there was nothing even close to a usable pick in there.