The Escape of Bobby Ray Hammer, A Novel of a '50s Family by David Sheppard
"That candy apple you're polishing on," I shout over my shoulder as I walk off, heading for the office to pay my bill.
"Oh, mama! The kid got himself a pussy wagon."
*
God it feels good to get my car back and to know that Charles is really alive. I even feel better about Papa now. As I get in my Chevy to go, Charles opens and closes my door for me, bows.
"What'd you pay for a cherry like this?"
But I don't want to tell him, so I just say, "Pistoresi got it used somewhere on the coast."
"No shit? I knew a car like this. It was running a classy set of hubcaps though. Somebody could have lifted them. We could get some more just like them. Pistoresi didn't say who it was he got it from, did he?"
"Not to me." I was thinking about Charles living on the coast while I was paying my bill, so I ask him, "You ever see the Golden Gate Bridge while you lived in Mountain View?"
"Couple of times."
"They say it is the longest suspension bridge in the world."
"I'm not much on bridges, but I guess it's an okay bridge."
"How about the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge You ever see that?"
"Sure, I've seen it. What's this thing about you and bridges? You got a hard-on for bridges?"
"I just like 'em, Charles. I'd like to build bridges some day." He's the first one I have ever told that.
"Painting houses is no way to start out if you plan on building bridges. You'll need some college. That sure leaves me out. I didn't get to graduate high school. All the trouble drove me out of town. That's another thing I'm pissed about. You've got to watch out for yourself in this life, Bobby. Nobody else will, that's for sure." Then he gets real serious as he comes up close, puts his arms on my doorsill, almost whispers, "You got a steady girl?"
I hang my head a little. "Not anymore."
"Good. That's good, Bobby. You're a free man. Let's go raise some hell tonight. You want to go to the football game?"
"Mama doesn't like me to be out with older kids."
"Look, Bobby." And now I pull back from him because I see something in his eyes that scares me. "Don't ever let a woman, especially your mother, run your life. Women have a warped view of the world." Then he quiets a little. "Come on. Go to town with me tonight."
"Can't. Papa told me I won't be going to town while I'm not going to school. I would've been playing in the game, but the principal already canned that one too."
"God! You're a football player. Shit almighty, Bobby. That asshole must have it in for you too. Who's the principal now? Still old man Wade?"
"No. Clyde Sonnett. He's new this year."
"Sonnett? That bone-head typing teacher?"
"That's him."
"People like him will ruin your life. Playing football's important. I know because I played too."
I think maybe I'm going to cry if he doesn't shut up.
"Doesn't matter," he says, with a sweep of his arm, like he just brushed all the world's problems aside. "We don't have to go to town. Bring a .22 and we'll go to the country, shoot rabbits by spotlight. We could even shoot niggers if you'd rather. I know a couple of places where they're thick as grass in a spotlight. Rabbits, I mean, not niggers." Then he laughs, so I know he's kidding. "In my jeep, we can go across country, raise a little hell like Lenny and I used to do. We've got to make up for what's happened to you."
"Not tonight. After I get back in school, Papa'll let me go. Besides, I'm tired, Charles. Papa's been working me like a dog."
"That old man of yours..." He straightens up, and for a second. I think he's going to walk off. "That sonofabitch..."
I don't like him talking about Papa like that.
"Don't tell him I'm back in town. Okay? I don't need that. Don't believe everything he says about me, either. Make up your own mind about things, things and people. That way you can live with the answers. Don't trust anybody. I was hoping you'd be grown up. You seem even older than I hoped. I've always liked you, Bobby. What a team we'll make. Chowchilla, lookout! Here we come!"
CHAPTER 8: First Leroy and Then Bev
It's late Sunday afternoon, and I'm sitting on the front porch tired as hell. I'm sorer today than yesterday. I think Papa is trying to kill me with all the work he's shoving at me. I get to go back to school tomorrow, and I'm glad about it. I've been up since four this morning driving the tractor. I think even Papa's starting to feel sorry for me. We've been broke down since early afternoon, and Papa has gone to Fresno to get the dealer to open his shop so he can get a generator for the flatbed. Papa's afraid it's going to rain and us this close to getting the hay in and the cotton picked. He took Curt with him instead of me. Papa doesn't ever want to be alone. He'll be talking to Curt about how much he hates the weatherman, how you can't trust him, and how he's going broke and how it was during the depression, working for fifty cents a day. Curt, he'll be looking out the window at the fields of cotton and corn as they go past and won't hear a word. They've been gone a long time, and I'm wondering want happened.
After seeing Charles, I've been thinking a lot about Lenny. I keep going over the week before it happened, and I can't account for all of my time. I remember Lenny hitting me in the head with the baseball, and that seemed to set everything in motion. Everyone was mad at him. Lenny hit me on Sunday. I remember it was a Sunday because Aunt Loretta always came over on Sunday. Still does. She's sitting in the kitchen talking to Mama right now. She didn't like Charles. When Charles showed up to see Lenny that day, he put a strain on things. I don't remember what happened the rest of the day after Lenny hit me. The time is just gone. The next thing I remember happened Monday afternoon. The school nurse sent me home because I was having dizzy spells. Strange thing is, Lenny was home too. It was like he hadn't even been to school. He and Papa weren't speaking. Mama was quiet for a change. She'd quit arguing with Lenny about his girl. But Mama and Papa were whispering. Lenny came home late Monday night and crawled into bed without saying a word. When I got up the next morning, he was already gone. Didn't even have breakfast with us. I went to school on Tuesday, but that's all I remember. Something bad happened that night. Lenny was home that evening because he'd been working in the field with Papa and they came in after dark and not talking. I don't think anybody said a word all the way through supper. During the night something strange happened. We'd all gone to bed except Papa, and he went back out to the field to drive the tractor but came in late while we were asleep and woke Lenny. Lenny slept in the same room with me and Curt in his own bed. It must have been after midnight. "Get out to Beacon Road," Papa said, like Lenny should've known he was supposed to be out there. "Something going on you should see." Then Papa stomped off to bed. Lenny never came back. Whatever it was took the rest of the night, I guess. I remember going to school the next day, the day Lenny got killed, but I don't remember what happened Wednesday until I was in the house and no one else there. What I did after the nurse sent me home is missing. The next thing I remember is that Lenny was dead.
I'm thinking about all this when Leroy drives up. Now he's sitting here on the porch with me, talking as usual, his old pencil arms and legs hardly holding open his clothes. He's always coming out to the farm making a nuisance of himself. Papa doesn't complain, but I know he doesn't like Leroy much. Leroy doesn't understand about working, him living in town. Papa says all Leroy knows about is going somewhere. Papa doesn't believe in going. He says, the more you go, the more you want to go till you never want to stay home. Says it's like a disease. Leroy piddles around in his daddy's auto repair shop a little, but that's it. And today, he's had the whole day off, had all his life off if you want to know the truth, and happy like it's his birthday, claiming he has good news for me too.
"Man, I've heard of so many girls that want to go out with you, you'll be busy till you graduate."
"Come on, Leroy, I'm in no mood for joking."
"It's the truth, I tell you. Word has traveled all over town. You get beat up, kicked out of school,
"Come on, Leroy. You're making fun of me because I'm snakebit."
"No I'm not, no I'm not. I think you've found the secret to getting into every girl's drawers. I'm hoping some of your bad luck will rub off on me."
I try to take a swing at his head but my shoulder doesn't work too good because it hurts deep inside from lifting hay bales.
"I've got just the girl for you to start with, Bobby."
"Ya. This ought to be good. What have you got for me this time? Another harelip? Or is it another girl that wets the bed and don't take regular baths so she smells like pee, like those twins you fixed us up with two years ago?"
"Look, Bobby. I've grown up a lot since two years ago. No. I've got the right one for you this time. Trust me."
"Give me a name," I tell him.
"Brenda."
"Brenda McCallum? Get serious." She's the one he's been lying about Thomas nailing last summer. "Besides, you keep telling me how fat she is."
"I am serious. And maybe she is a little fat, but you've been wanting to go out with her ever since she kissed you in the eighth grade. And now, she's been asking about you, Bobby. Swear to god."
"Ah, come on, Leroy. She's not going for me. She's too smart."
"I agree, it's hard to believe," and I don't like the way he said that, "but I tell you, you're a celebrity. Shit, man. Nothing ever happens in this town. Everything that's happened since school started has happened to you."
"But not Brenda. She's in with all the teachers. Even Clyde likes Brenda."
"No. Listen to me," and here it comes. "If you get a date with Brenda, then she can get Phyllis Thompson to go out with me for a double date. Phyllis and Brenda are about as close as two girls get. You can get along with any girl on a double date. I'll do all the talking so you won't have to worry about it. See there? I'll do it for you, Bobby. Besides Phyllis isn't such a bad girl. I might even enjoy it."
He's been talking about Phyllis ever since school started this year. She's a nice girl, a little tall and skinny but definitely too good for Leroy. "Leroy," and now I'm shaking my head, and I don't know what to say because Brenda runs with a different group of kids from the ones I know.
"You're not asking her to marry you, Bobby. You're just asking for a date. Then ask her if Phyllis will go out with me so we can double date. It's going to be easy, Bobby. Shit. You're so good with the girls." And now here he comes at me from the other side. "To tell you the truth, I'm having trouble. I need some help getting a date. And all I'm asking for is an opportunity. All I need is another start. I don't know why you can't help me out a little with Phyllis. Besides, I'm doing some work on my car starting this afternoon. It's going to be laid up for a while. Now your car's out of the shop and I need a little help. And Brenda's hot after your ass, I tell you. Shit! There's no way to ever get through to you. You're hopeless."
I hear a car on the road, hear it slow, so I look past Leroy, past the old peach tree on the corner of our driveway, and, oh shit! I see Bev driving up in her daddy's brand new Buick that has the four little holes on the side. Bev has never been out to our little shack before, and I am squirming and looking around to see what kind of state it's in. Lawn not mowed, chug hole in the drive that needs a little dirt, house could stand a little paint.
"Looks like it's already starting," Leroy says, "and they're coming for you instead of waiting for you to come after them. But this girl's trouble, Bobby. You know that. I hear she's been going out with a lot of other guys." And with that he gets up to leave like he's really in a hurry, already has his keys in his hand. "Brenda and Phyllis, neither of them like her. You've already had one fight over Bev. Brenda comes trouble free. Just think about it. Trouble free." I think maybe he's pushing a little too hard for some reason.
I'm tired of seeing people today and that goes double for Bev. Her daddy acts like he has a little money because he's had a big new house built on their dairy. I walk Leroy to his Ford, feeling the dirt on the tender balls of my feet. Leroy finally gets that old Ford started after grinding the starter a couple of times, and then black smoke boils out the tail pipe. I'm wishing it didn't sound so much like the exhaust comes straight out of the manifold, but he's raising a racket and squeaks a little rubber in second gear.
Now here Bev comes out of that black Buick.
"Bobby Ray," says Mama sticking her head out the front door. "Go get your Papa out of the Cotton Club. And do it now." Then she slams the door.
Bev has on those tight white shorts with a red blouse tucked in and black pointed-toe shoes, and out the corner of my eye, I see Mama peeking from behind the curtain. I wonder if Aunt Loretta is looking too? I wish Bev had on more clothes the first time Mama sees her. God, how many things can be wrong at once?
The first time I saw Bev was in kindergarten. I was standing outside on the classroom steps and she was on the other side of the schoolyard running from the swings to the teeter-totter. She had her black hair pulled back in a ponytail, and it bounced and swayed back and forth when she ran. Seems like she was always running back and forth trying to make up her mind, swings or teeter-totter, swings or teeter-totter. All through grammar school she was always sort of off in the distance. This summer was the first I really got to know her. But I can't get along with her. When she's around, I can't keep from looking at her. When I'm with her, I can't keep my hands off of her. That's what got me in trouble this summer. "Hands are serious business," she said. "At least where you want to put them. And I need to know how serious your are toward me before we do that." So I backed off, and that made her even madder.
"Bev, there's no sense in getting out." I'm walking toward her now, letting my arms dangle with my hands sticking out the pockets of my Levi's. I'm trying hard not to feel the pressure of Mama's eyes.
"Come on Bobby. Let's not fight anymore. I only want to see you for two minutes. That's all I want, just two minutes."
"What's two minutes going to solve? You already decided you don't want to go with me.
"Leroy tells me you've been dating girls from out of town. And I just think that we should consider what we mean to each other. I know now that Melvin is just a friend. And I've decided not to go out with him anymore, not on dates anyway. I hope you believe that. Melvin is your friend too, Bobby. Leroy caused the trouble between you and Melvin."
"The problem between me and Melvin is you. Not Leroy."
"Oh, really? Did you know he asked me out?"
"Leroy?" And I laugh a little but it doesn't feel too funny.
She laughs too and blushes a bright red to match her blouse.
"Forget I said that," she adds.
"Leroy asked you out? You mean, like for a date?"
"I said forget it!" And she acts like she's going to walk off and leave me standing here. "I've been thinking that maybe I've made a mistake about us," she says right quick. "Maybe you and me should try again. Talk about it anyway"
That goddamn Leroy is in trouble. No wonder he keeps talking Bev down to me.
"You don't sound too convinced about it yourself," I tell her. So why should I?" She has her hair down around her shoulders this time. She knows how much I like it like that.
"Bobby. You don't always have to be so bitter. Can't I stay a little while and talk to you over there on the porch?"
There is always a lot of flies on the porch.
"I can't talk to you now, Bev." I would like to talk to her but I have to get her out of here. I don't want her to see our little shack, and I can just hear Mama going on about those tight shorts. God, she does look good. "I'll call you sometime. I just can't talk to you now."
She starts to leave, then turns back.
"We lost the game Friday night, Bobby. Clovis beat us 33 to 13."
"So what? That doesn't make me feel any better."
I see Mama finally let go of the curtain. Guess she got her eye full.
Oh," and now she'
This girl never listens to reason. Her voice is getting even smaller, and I guess I don't want her to feel too bad, but I got to get her out of here. I haven't had a shower in two days, my hair looks like a tumbleweed, and I got these smelly armpits. So I am feeling real bad about it, but I don't know another way to do it. Besides I'm still mad as hell about her going out with Melvin.
"I'm going to say this one more time, Bev. Get back in your daddy's big fat Buick and go back to cheerleading, praising the lord, or swatting flies. I don't care. I'm not talking to you. Not today. Not ever."
So she walks off, but, damn, she's not going back to her daddy's black Buick. It looks like she's going around to the side of the house, over by where Mama has her garden planted.
"Bev," I say. "Where are you going?"
But she won't answer. She just walks to the side of the house and motions for me to come to her.
So I have to go over. But I'm barefooted and I don't like it because of the stickers. When I'm standing right in front of her, she comes up close so our tummies are touching and her heat is coming through my Levis and this is killing me because I'm starting to swell up.
"Bobby," she starts in on me, barely talking above a whisper, "you could put your hands anywhere you want, if you would just tell me that we are going to be together after graduation. You don't have to tell me you'll marry me right away. But I need something. Just a little something. Then we can do it. And we can talk about getting married and having babies, Bobby. What could be wrong with having babies together?"
She pushing up against me, where I'm swelling, and I look out across the neighbor's field where a bunch of cows are grazing, and off in the distance I see cars on Highway 152 heading for San Francisco, the direction I'm headed after school. But how can I walk away from this girl? How can I stay in Chowchilla? How can she stand this close to me when I haven't had a bath?
"I don't know," I say.
She shakes her head and her face just forms into this gigantic pout. "Quit saying, 'I don't know.' Just say 'Yes' or just say 'No." But if you say 'I don't know' again I'm going to scream!"
"But I really don't know."
"You're impossible! You know that? You're just disgusting." And then she backs away from me, looks down at my pants and bare feet. Maybe she got a whiff. As she walks back to her daddy's Buick, I feel like I should say something but I just don't know what.