A Death On The Wolf, page 13
“Nels?” Frankie said.
“Hmm?”
“Thanks for being my friend.” He rolled over on his side facing the wall and pulled the sheet up over both of us.
“Best friend,” I said. I rolled on my side facing away from Frankie and punched my pillow to get some more support.
Frankie gave a loud yawn and said, “Goodnight, Nels.”
“Goodnight, fag,” I said.
Frankie laughed and elbowed me in the back. I elbowed him back.
Chapter 12
Sweet Sixteen
I would be sixteen years old tomorrow. Had my past four weeks not been preoccupied with Mary Alice, I would have been obsessing over the approach of this milestone. As far back as I could remember sixteen seemed like the perfect age to attain. You were “grown up,” but not an adult. You could drive (legally) and go where you wanted when you wanted. But August 5, 1969 would bring more to me than just this magic age: I would be getting my first car, which meant no more riding the bus to school. I had managed to save $382 toward the $500 purchase price for the late Mrs. Borcher’s ’64 Impala. Daddy had promised to kick in the additional amount, and tomorrow morning we would be picking up my car and taking it down to Gulfport for my driving test so I could get my license.
I’d spent the entire morning studying the driver’s manual for the written test. I had it with me at work and when Dick didn’t have me doing something, I was reviewing it, like I was doing now. The bell dinged twice to tell me someone was at the pumps wanting gas. It dinged two more times. I looked up from the manual to see Frankie out there on his bike stomping on the line stretched across the concrete. Ding-ding. Ding-ding. Ding-ding.
“Knock it off, goddamnit!” Dick yelled from the bay where he was doing a brake job. The dinging stopped and I heard Frankie laughing. Dick stuck his head in the office doorway and looked at me. “Go out there and tell that little son of a bitch I’m gonna kick his ass if he does that again.”
Daddy’s words to Dick from the other night immediately flashed through my mind. I laid the driving manual on the counter and went out to the pumps. “Are you trying to get me fired?” I said to Frankie.
“No,” he said, still laughing. “I was just playing around. What’s got his panties in a wad?” Frankie pointed to Dick in the bay.
“He’s been pissed off ever since the parts store sent over the wrong brake shoes for that car. He had to drive down to The Pass and get the right ones.”
“What kind of car is that?” Frankie asked. “It’s weird lookin’.”
“I don’t know.” I turned to look at it. “Dick had it up on the lift when I got here.” I noticed he was pushing the oil receptacle from under the engine. “Looks like he’s doing an oil change, too.”
Just as I turned back to face Frankie I heard Dick yell, “I ain’t payin’ you to stand around and talk to your friends. Get in here and help me put the wheels back on this thing.”
“I gotta go,” I said to Frankie. “What are you doing in town?”
“My dad ran out of cigarettes.” Frankie patted his shirt pocket and I noticed the pack of Camels stuffed in it. “You still gettin’ your car tomorrow?” he asked.
“In the morning,” I said. “Dad’s taking off work the whole day.”
“Party’s at four, right?”
“Yep.”
“Nelson! Goddamnit!” Dick yelled.
Frankie waved and took off and I sprinted into the bay. “Sorry about that,” I said as I grabbed one of the wheels and lifted it up onto the hub of the rear axle. The rank smell of new rubber assaulted my nose and I noticed the blue coating still on the whitewalls. I started the lug nuts by hand. “Did you put new tires on this?”
“Yeah,” Dick said as he started tightening the lug nuts with the air wrench. I was already putting the next wheel on.
After Dick had double-checked the lug nuts on all four wheels, I put the wheel covers back on it. Dick lowered the lift, which gave me my first good look at this car. It was solid white with a red interior and had a “Gran Turismo” script badge on each door. What Frankie called “weird,” I thought was exotic. Whatever this car was, I’d never seen one before. It reminded me of an older Thunderbird, but the front with that huge grill was totally unique in a Rolls-Royce kind of way. There was even a grill of sorts on the back of the trunk. It had two gleaming chrome exhaust pipes sticking out under the bumper, indicating dual exhaust. “Whose car is this?” I asked.
Dick was around front opening the hood. “What do you care?” he said.
“I don’t. I was just wondering. I’ve never seen it around here before.”
“You think you know every car in Bells Ferry?” Dick was now over getting oil out of the cabinet.
“No.” I went over and looked under the hood. I was surprised to see a big V8. It had bright gold valve covers.
“Here, make yourself useful,” Dick said as he placed five blue and white cans of Havoline 30-weight HD on the bench in front of the car. We always used ESSO oil unless a customer specified something else. Daddy used Havoline in everything we had.
“Why are you using Havoline?” I asked.
“Quit asking so goddamn many questions and just put the oil in the engine.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. I filled the crankcase with oil, checked it on the dipstick, and then closed the long hood.
“The key’s in it,” Dick said. “Start it up and let it idle a minute and then park it out on the side by your bike.”
I went around and opened the door and slid into the bucket seat. “Is this a four-speed?” I asked Dick, who was standing by the open car door.
“Yeah, this ain’t a pussy’s car.” Dick said. “It’s in neutral, start it up.”
I pumped the gas, twisted the key, and the engine rumbled to life. It had a throaty exhaust note. I looked at the instrument panel. “This thing has a tach!” I said with surprise. “What is it?”
“A ’62 Studebaker GT Hawk.”
“This is a Studebaker?” My impression of Studebakers was forever cast in the shape of the old Lark that the principal of my school drove. That was a stodgy, boxy looking thing with nothing like the elegant lines of this car. “How big’s the engine?” I asked.
“It’s got a 289 with a four-barrel.”
“A 289? It’s got a Ford engine?”
Dick looked at me like I was an idiot. “Didn’t I just tell you it’s a Studebaker?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s got a Studebaker engine in it.”
Dick never could tell when I was yanking his chain just to get him wound up, so I decided to tug a little more. “But Ford makes a 289,” I said.
“Just get the hell out,” he said, waving me out of the car, “I’ll park it.”
I started laughing. “I’ll park it.”
“Then park the damn thing and quit pissing me off.” Dick closed the door. “And be careful.”
“I will,” I said and punched the gas. The exhaust barked loudly in the confines of the bay as the tach needle swung up to 3000 RPM. I looked around the lipstick-red interior. It was clean. Someone had taken good care of this car. I pushed in the clutch with my left foot and put my hand on the white shifter ball. I tried to find reverse by moving the lever just as I would on Uncle Rick’s VW Beetle. Nothing happened. “Where’s reverse,” I said.
“I told you this car ain’t for pussies. You must be a pussy if you can’t find reverse.”
“Okay, you park it,” I said and started to open the door.
Dick put his hand on my shoulder. “Keep your ass in there,” he said. “Reverse is to the left of first and up. Look on the knob.”
I looked at the shifter ball and saw a diagram embossed on it of the shift pattern. I wrestled with it a couple of times and finally found reverse. I eased out the clutch and the engine almost stalled.
“Give it a little gas,” Dick said.
I feathered the clutch and touched the gas pedal and slowly backed out of the bay, careful to watch where I was going. I parked on the side of the building without incident. I went in the office and handed Dick the keys. “I really like that car,” I said. “Are you gonna tell me whose is it?”
“Mine.” Dick opened the cash register drawer and tossed the keys in it.
“Really? When did you get it?”
“When was the first time you seen it?” Dick slammed the drawer shut causing the register bell to ding.
“Today.”
“Right.”
“Can I take it for a spin?”
“Hell no. You don’t even have your license yet.”
“I will tomorrow,” I said.
“And you’ll have your own damn car tomorrow.”
“How’d you know about that?” I didn’t recall ever saying anything to Dick about me getting a car.
“You’re gettin’ old lady Borcher’s Chevy. Your dad had me check it out to make sure everything was okay on it. It’s been sittin’ in her garage for six months.”
“Was everything okay?” I asked.
“I had to put a battery in it,” Dick said. “I told your dad it’s gonna need tires soon. Still got the originals on it and they’re gettin’ dry rotted.”
I looked up at the clock on the wall behind Dick’s desk. It was fifteen minutes until six o’clock, closing time. “What do you want me to do now?” I asked.
“Nothin’. Get the hell out of here.”
“It’s not six yet,” I said.
“I know what goddamn time it is.”
“Okay,” I said and headed for the door.
“Wait a minute,” Dick said. He went over to the register and opened the drawer. He pulled out a twenty dollar bill and held it out to me. “Here, happy birthday.”
This was a total surprise. I took the money from his hand. “Thanks, Dick.”
“You ain’t comin’ in to work tomorrow are you?”
“I can if you need me to,” I offered.
“I don’t.”
“My party’s at four o’clock if you want to come.”
“Sure, you come down here and tend to the station and I’ll go to your house and eat cake and ice cream.”
I rolled my eyes and Dick winked at me. “Enjoy your day, boy. You only turn sixteen once.”
I headed home on the Honda with a big grin on my face. I now had $402 to put toward the purchase of my car. I was thinking, too, about how Daddy had said Dick was a good man, and yet he really wasn’t anything like my father. He cursed like a sailor, was an unapologetic bigot, and had insulted Daddy to his face while threatening to fire me over something I had nothing to do with. But I was beginning to see what Daddy meant. Deep down, Dick was a good man. It’s just that a good man in Dick’s world was a distant cousin to a good man in ours. There was some family resemblance, but you had to look hard to see it.
— — —
“Dick bought a car today,” I announced at the dinner table after Daddy had said grace. Aunt Charity was at her Eastern Star meeting and my father had dinner ready when I got home, which was an unexpected treat. He’d fixed crab cakes, hushpuppies, and French fries, which told me he’d been thinking about Mama today.
“What’d he get?” Daddy asked.
“May I have some hushpuppies, please?” Mary Alice said.
I put the dish of hushpuppies in her outstretched hand and looked over at Daddy. “He got a Studebaker. A Gran something.”
Daddy was about to take a sip of his iced tea. He stopped before the glass touched his lips. “A GT Hawk?” he said.
“Yeah, I think that’s what he said it was. It had ‘Gran Turismo’ on the doors. You’ve heard of it?”
“Oh, yeah,” Daddy said.
“It’s a neat car,” I said. “It’s got a tach and four in the floor.”
“What’s four in the floor?” my sister asked.
I looked over at Sachet. “It’s a four-speed transmission and the shifter’s in the floor instead of on the steering column. Like on Uncle Rick’s Bug.”
“Oh,” she said. I watched her cutting up her crab cake and thought about Grandma Gody.
“So you like that Studebaker?” Daddy said.
“Yeah, it’s a nice car. Sounds good, too. It’s got dual exhaust.” I took a bite of crab cake. “This is pretty good, Daddy,” I said with a mouth full.
“Your old man knows how to cook some things,” he said with a smile. “That’s your mother’s recipe,” he added. “Mary Alice, honey, you got everything you need?” he asked her.
“Yes sir, I’m fine,” she said. “And Nelson is right, your crab cakes are delicious.”
“Thank you, sweetie. I’m glad you like it.”
“Where’d you get the crab meat?” I asked.
“Guy at work had some for sale today.”
“What time are we going to get my car in the morning?”
“After breakfast,” Daddy said.
“Dick gave me twenty dollars for my birthday, so now I’ve got four-hundred and two dollars.”
“You almost made it to five-hundred, didn’t you?” Daddy said.
“Almost.”
Daddy looked at me and said, “How much have you got set aside for the tags and insurance?” I stopped chewing the food in my mouth and felt all the blood drain from my face. I hadn’t even thought about insurance or a license plate for the car. “You forgot about that, didn’t you?” Daddy said.
I nodded my head and swallowed. “I guess I did,” I said, which really wasn’t true. You can’t forget something you never thought of in the first place. I was totally dejected. “Does this mean we can’t get it tomorrow?” I asked.
“We can get the car tomorrow,” Daddy said, “you just won’t be able to drive it until you can put plates on it and get insurance. You’ll have to do your driving test in the Chrysler.”
Damn it. I almost said it out loud. I was finally going to get my first car tomorrow and I wouldn’t even be able to drive it. I would have to take the test for my license in the Batmobile. I ate the rest of my dinner in abject silence.
— — —
I awoke at 6:45 the next morning to the smell of bacon frying. I would not officially be sixteen until 11:42 A.M., so maybe that was why I didn’t feel any different. It was just another morning and I wouldn’t be sixteen for another five hours.
I got dressed and went to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth. As I looked in the mirror at myself, with the toothbrush hanging out of my mouth, I noticed a small red spot on my left cheek just beside my nose. I had managed to make it through to my mid-teens with a clear complexion. So now that I was turning the coveted sixteen, was this going to be my reward? My first zit? This day wasn’t shaping up to be all that great. I would be getting my first car, but would not be able to drive it. And now acne appeared to be taking up residence on my face. At least I was not worried about getting my driver’s license. I was prepared for the test, even if I had to use Daddy’s car for the driving portion. No matter what, this day would end with me being a legal driver in the State of Mississippi.
“Whose car is that out there?” my sister was saying as I walked into the kitchen. She still had on her nightgown and was looking out the window in the dining area that faced our driveway and Aunt Charity’s yard.
Aunt Charity was over at the stove taking the last pieces of bacon out of the skillet. “You’ll have to ask your father,” she said.
“Where’s Mary Alice?” I asked and walked over to the window where my sister was standing.
“She’s getting dressed. You want to go over there and get her?”
“Yeah,” I said and looked out the window. Dick’s new car was sitting in our driveway. “What’s Dick doing here?”
“Who?” Aunt Charity said and placed a platter loaded with strips of crisp bacon on the table.
“Dick Tillman,” I answered.
“Your father is out there somewhere, so maybe he came over to see him about something. The pancakes will be ready shortly so go on over to my house and get Mary Alice. And tell your father to come on. And if Richard Tillman is out there, see if he wants some breakfast.” With spatula in hand, Aunt Charity walked over and kissed me on the cheek. “Happy Birthday,” she said.
I smiled and said, “Thanks.”
“I forgot, Nelson!” my sister screamed. She was bouncing on her toes and holding her hands up for me to take her. I picked her up and she hugged me tightly. “Happy Birthday!” she said loudly over my shoulder.
“Thanks, Sachet.” I carried her with me out into the back yard but I didn’t see Dick or our father anywhere. The air was thick and humid. “Daddy!” I hollered and waited. There was no response, other than a couple of cows mooing out in the pasture. I set my sister down on her bare feet. “Go get dressed,” I told her. I headed over to Aunt Charity’s to get Mary Alice.
A heavy dew lay on the grass, so my sneakers were wet and covered in grass clippings as I stepped up on Aunt Charity’s front porch. I took them off and went in the house. I went straight to Mary Alice’s room, and since the door was open, I walked in without knocking. She was standing there wearing nothing but sandals and a pair of loose fitting, pale yellow pedal pushers. She was fumbling with her bra.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I thought you’d be dressed.” I turned and retreated from the room.
“Wait, Nelson,” Mary Alice called to me. “Will you help me with this?”
I stopped, and without turning around said, “Help you with what?”
“With my bra.”
“Let me go get Aunt Charity,” I said. After all, what did I know about a girl’s bra?
“Quit being silly and help me. I can’t get it fastened.”
I turned and walked over to Mary Alice. She was facing away from me and I quickly sized up the problem. She had somehow managed to get the bra twisted when she slipped it on and the hooks in the back wouldn’t line up. “You’ve got it twisted,” I said. “I think you’re going to have to take it off.” Mary Alice reached up to slide the straps off her shoulders. “Let me go out,” I said.
