Theo (17 page)

A dolphin. I am sticking with you if we get shipwrecked.

Come on, Don, I’m making breakfast. Sunnyside up. It’s a beautiful day, mate.

Don stands from behind the table with the recording equipment as the lady puts aluminum foil over trays and containers, really fast and sharp, ripping the foil like she might be mad.

Where did the lady come from.

Adrian says, Manhattan. She’s staying with us. We need decent food. Colin’s useless. That’s a cool sound, Adrian says, turning to watch the lady rip sheets of aluminum foil from the roll. Darlin, would you mind if I taped that.

The lady kept working but said, that’s fine. Todd Rundgren did it last.

Oh well, forget it. Adrian grinned. Thanks, baby, we’ll need something later – can you set up a buffet.

Certainly. How about pasta with an omelet option, spinach salad, baguettes. A tort.

Pasta’s fine. Come on, Theo.

Adrian’s sunglasses were on, and Don and Theo followed him toward the kitchen. Wind now blew through the open doors. Theo remembered the other guys and turned around. Now the drummer sat behind his kit again, draining a beer and squinting into the light from outside. The other guitar player sat on his case rubbing his eyes, yawning. He looked up and yelled.

So what’s the plan, Adrian.

Taking five, Adrian said, not turning around. First, sustenance. Should I make enough for you.

No man.

Later, then. Adrian put both hands on the door for a few seconds, standing still, shook his head. Whew. Okay. We’re open for business. I’m thinking bangers and whatever. Candy canes.

Adrian’s at the refrigerator, and Theo’s now behind him, and it’s full of leafy things and fruit, and packages with meat. Potatoes, cheese. Colors invading that usually gray-white space like one of the empty rooms.

Where did all this come from.

Father Christmas, Adrian said, bending and squinting with a hand in the back. I talked to Colin about this. No more Wild West.

What do you mean.

Aha. Adrian’s pulling out a sealed package of meat. Sausage.

It looks funny. Weird. Like the old men at the Y. Will Theo look like that.

Brilliant. What would you like with them, son.

Um. Nothing.

How about toast.

Okay.

Don, can you see about toast.

Sure.

Don’s smoking and he’s just twisted open a beer. He’s looking around, Adam’s apple bobbing as he drinks. The bass player wanders in, sits, smoking. Tear me off a hunk of that beast, eh.

Right. A successful hunt. The village will eat well tonight.

Arista wants me.

When.

L.A. tomorrow.

Fuckers. Blow them off.

Can’t. They’re paying me better.

I’ll top them.

The bass player snorted, inhaled and exhaled cigarette. You’re cheaper than Bowie.

Hey now. Them’s fightin words.

Look, man. I don’t know what this gig is. I do know what Arista wants. Bird in the hand.

Suit yourself. I won’t beg. Sausage.

Yeah, I’ll take two.

You’re a wanker.

Yeah. Still want two. Car’s coming later.

What about you, Theo.

I’ll have one.

Don.

I’d be grateful for two.

Let’s see if we can get some tea going, eh.

Adrian faced the stove, cigarette smoke twining up above him. Theo looked at his back, scars, and ribs, bruised arms. His dad was thin, like Theo.

You’re a quiet one, Don is saying to Theo, draining the beer.

Theo looks at him and at his dad. I guess.

You are not exactly Oscar Wilde yourself, mate. At least in Theo’s case it’s just him not wasting his pearls on swine, Adrian says. Where’s the tea, I’m dying for it.

The bass player is bent at the open refrigerator with his arm in up to the shoulder, pulling out two beers.

Theo, can you make some tea as these animals don’t seem to speak English: Theo’s dad’s drinking from a glass, brown stuff.

Sure: Theo hops up and goes into the pantry, trying to remember where tea might be. He knows Colin and Gus both drink it. He doesn’t understand it. He likes Coke. Most
afternoons, no matter what, Gus and Colin have tea, and usually some kind of cookies they call biscuits. Theo eats cookies with them. Sometimes Colin wakes up just in time to have tea, or appears while Gus is sitting outside under a tree, or in the kitchen, with a cup in front of him. Gus says tea is a chance to stop and catch your breath, like when boxers take a break to get ready for the next round.

Is life always fighting. Right now Theo’s wondering if the tea is up near the ceiling and pulls over the old dark stepladder on wheels and scrambles up, holding on to the pole it has on one side. Colin won’t touch the stepladder or use it. He says too many ghosts have had hands on it. It is worn, the wood darker from hands on the pole, some of which Theo thinks must be kid hands because it’s worn where he puts his hand.

Shit. Bollocks.

There’s crashing and a whoosh from the kitchen, the sound of chairs pushed back and one banging on the stone floor. Cursing. Holding the pole Theo jumps from the ladder thinking stove and Adrian.

Something’s on fire, a towel or – his dad’s pants, and the other two are spraying him with beers, him holding his hands out of the way. He’s always careful with his hands, even in his sleep, Theo knows. Theo knows one of the minders’ jobs is to make sure he doesn’t sleep on his arm wrong. Once his dad fell asleep on a plane leaning against the window and hurt his arm because the circulation was cut off. Adrian had to stop working, and a lot of doctors visited. Adrian doesn’t like to shake hands, and he lets other people open and close doors, and he never touches car doors. Theo’s seen his mother yell at Adrian to close a car door and his father ask a stranger to do him a favor and shut the door for him. His mother drove
off with the door open and it hit a light pole and another car. His dad yelled a lot then too. That was one of the times when Theo stayed with his dad for a while. Or really, with minders in hotels, while his dad worked. This was on a tour in Europe, Theo remembered, after he turned seven. Lucky seven, his dad always used to say. Lucky seven. He would always shake Theo’s hand, no matter what.

His dad was saying bad words, and the other two were laughing now in the hazy kitchen. Polyester will go off like a rocket, man. You should wear natural fibers to lower your combustibility.

You could also stay away from open flame. You’re a menace to yourself.

Adrian now was walking around the kitchen in circles, bumping into things, yelling. Then he veered into the open door to the ballroom and wove toward the glass doors. Gonna go for a swim, wash off. Theo ran after him, past the two men, into the ballroom. The pink-haired lady was smoking a cigarette, the drummer and other guitar player gone, but Theo could hear their voices down a hall, yelling.

Theo ran up beside his dad, who looked down and put an arm around Theo. My friend, let’s go for a swim in the beautiful. Then his dad started singing an old song that Theo had heard him sing before, from way back in the olden days. Gonna dust my broom.

What happened, dad.

Ah. I spilled some oil in the wrong place at the wrong time, which is just the kind of thing fire likes, waits for those little moments, sneaky bastard. We’ll finish the job when we get back eh. Just want a little air and to get the smell of melted plastic out of the lungs.

Feathers of black ran down the front of Adrian’s pants, which were loose and purple and tied with a string that had burned through, so he had to hold them up with one hand. The legs were bell-bottoms and he kept stumbling over them. Christ. Bloody hell.

His dad stopped and bent and tugged down and kicked out of the pants and left them. He had on underwear, black and shiny like it was wet already, shorts.

I’ve been practicing the drums. I’m pretty good.

I’ll bet you are. Play me something when we get back, will you.

I think my butterflies are hatching. You should come up and see them.

I would like that, mate.

You gave them to me.

I did. Right, I remember. How about that. Glad you like them.

Are you making a record here.

Doing the preliminary work right now. Seeing how it sounds. It’s tricky business, and the space has to be really right. It’s more important than the musicians.

Are you going to stay for a while.

That’s the plan. Are you glad.

Yeah. How long can you stay.

Forever and ever. Never leaving. We’re going to have some fun. I need a vacation. I’ve been working like a slave.

How long is that.

Adrian grinned down, and looked up at the sun, a white circle on his black sunglasses. Until you get tired of me.

Are all these people going to be here.

Some of them will, yeah.

Will my mother come.

Depends on if she gets better.

She’s sick.

Yeah. We want her to get better, right.

Yeah. How is she sick.

Oh, she’s – you know how if you eat a lot of candy, too many sweets, you get sick and your stomach’s upset.

Yeah. She just ate too much.

Well, she just, she’s doing too much stuff that’s not good for her and we need to help her not do that.

Are drugs like candy.

In the dunes now, they kicked through the sand toward the sound of the sea, their feet hot. Adrian’s looking ahead, but his hand’s back on Theo now. No, mate. They’re drugs. You want to steer clear of them. Some people can handle them, and some can’t, and they can certainly break your back.

We had units on drugs and how bad they are. The teacher said they can kill you. We learned all about them.

Yeah, what is that, fifth form.

Fifth grade.

Grade, right. Yeah, that’s true.

I don’t want that to happen to mom or you, dad.

Adrian stops, and slowly kneels down and puts arms around Theo, swaying a little. Don’t worry, love. That’s never going to happen. I love you too much to let that happen. Okay.

Adrian looks at Theo, but Theo’s eyes hurt from the glare of the sunglasses and he turns away. Okay, mate, Adrian asks.

Okay, Theo answers.

Race you, Adrian says, and stumbles running toward the ocean breaking now ahead of them, dotted with people, and seagulls like things growing up from the sand, all facing the same way, a crop.

Theo takes off fast as he can, then looks back. His dad gets up off the sand, his chest white with it. Theo turns and runs unsteadily backward, raising his hands over his head. I win, he yells.

Fair deal, you sure did. Tortoise and the hare, you run circles around me right now. I’m a little short on wind, a little off my form. But I’m going to get some rest here, some healthy living and we’ll see what’s what once I get my blood up.

A big wave crashing, Theo hears behind him.

Did you know that butterflies migrate.

Do they.

Some go all the way from here to Mexico. They’re called monarchs, the ones that are orange and black. And it takes so long that no butterfly makes it all the way. They fly and then lay eggs along the way and the new ones hatch out and fly and lay eggs and they keep doing that to follow the weather and the food, back and forth every year. And it’s a really long way, like fivw hundred miles.

More like five thousand. Where’d you find all that out.

I read it in one of the books you gave me.

Isn’t that bloody amazing. So here’s me trying to migrate to the beach and you might have to carry on for me, make it to the water.

Now Adrian’s coughing, clutching at his throat, go on without me. Go lay your eggs. Keep the species going, baby.

Theo laughs, his dad fake swimming in the sand now. Come on, dad, let’s finish the race.

Alright matey. Adrian pushes up. On your mark get – Adrian takes off running, and Theo goes too, catching up with his dad and bumping into him, and his dad grabs him and keeps him from passing, oh no you don’t, taking advantage of an old
man, and Theo fights a little but not too hard and they run together into the first water, the low backwash draining out, the sand getting sticky and thick and they keep running until both stumble and fall into a few inches of water. Theo sputters up, his dad on his side, and Theo keeps running into the low waves, the ocean flat and glassy, a couple of boats plowing across, one with a skier kicking up roostertails. Theo dives into the face of a wave, he’s a fish, opens eyes an instant, blurry, shuts eyes tight, flails, tries to stay on bottom but is pushed up.

Theo sputters for breath, pushes hair out of the way and turns to see where Adrian is. Nowhere. Then he feels something and squeals, feeling fluttery and excited; it’s a hand. His dad’s tickling him, Adrian’s pale body in the water split in the middle by the black of his shorts, two separate white things. Theo’s pushing away, kicking and laughing. His father comes up, spluttering, his streaked hair shaggy, amnemone anommne anemone – Theo remembers the waving. Ow, Adrian is saying, his lip is bleeding. You caught me a good one, grinning. Then he lunges at Theo, who squeals again. Sea monster, Theo yells, and dives under, swims, a dolphin, no hands, just legs, but isn’t going anywhere. Adrian’s hands are grabbing his kicking legs, and Theo flails with his arms, up to air.

Breathing hard, not seeing because of hair, Theo ducks under again, just the cool water and the grinding surf and churning. Inhales water, coughs, stands up, water at his chest, starts spinning, slapping at the water jumping up and down waving his arms and kicking, spinning in slow motion because of water, not thinking, hair whipping around but stuck over his eyes, not seeing, moving. Adrian’s on him now, pushing him under and laughing; looks like I caught myself a crazy seal. Theo’s fighting, his dad’s lifting him back out, both
sputtering, his dad yelling blow me down, it’s the white whale I’ve been hunting me whole life, Moby Theo. I thought you’d be bigger.

Theo’s laughing, you didn’t catch me. And diving backward into a wave, pushed forward sideways toward the beach, heart pounding, and blurry everything, he’s wild, hair over his eyes, can’t be caught.

Do I have to go back to school: Theo suddenly thought of it, with his dad here.