Trashin’ The Camp
had wanted me to deal with hot, he'd have made me a
demon.
TLJ: Ain't any
hotter than God wants it.
Oh, shut the fuck up, you freak. Tom had followed Hawk on one of the
General's regular trips to Rochester.
He was getting to know the man.
I had suggested his character be named Eddie the Eagle, then Jade and I
had started laughing like trolls. Tom
had no idea what we were cracking our own asses about, and it took Sam a minute
to remember. Once he explained it to
Tom, the big goon tossed us in the pool.
Now Tom was standing in my yard, barefoot, white T-shirt
sticking to his torso, a battered hat on his head and a sweaty bottle of Pig's
Eye in his hand. He was contemplating
the heat haze the way a dog might contemplate a particularly juicy raccoon just
before he rolls in it. If God had
wanted me to deal with heat, he'd have made me a demon. Or a Texan.
Deb: What's with
the group hug over there? And where's
Hawk?
TLJ: Hawk's
upstairs. They started chemo again
today and he's not feeling very well.
He went on to bed.
Deb: Poor
guy. That's so nasty, that stuff.
Tom wiped the sweat from his face with his forearm and
ended the movement with a quick swallow.
TLJ: He's a
tough old bird. Keep him comfortable,
he'll be okay. You might want to see
what's going on over there. That little
bastard with the big black cigar's been runnin' his mouth for a good half-hour.
Deb: Who is he?
TLJ: Contractor.
Deb: Oh, shit on
a stick.
TLJ: I'd like to
see you do it.
I had been on my way across the yard but I stopped and
turned to face him.
Deb: Do what?
Tom grinned disarmingly.
TLJ: Shit on a
stick.
Deb: God, you're
evil.
His laughter followed me across the grass. I had been doing my best to give him a run
for his money ever since I'd stopped being scared of him. I never got him, the most I could hope for
was to call it a draw, but it was always a challenge.
They were standing by the pool in a tight knot
consisting of Bill and Sam and Elmore grouped around a fast-talking, sawed-off
sort of a shit that reminded me of that little twit in the Lethal Weapon
movies. Ryan was close enough to
listen, but not a serious member of the conversation. He was in the pool with Mick and Nuala and Three.
Deb: What's
this?
I poked Bill in the side. He twitched away from my nail but didn't say anything to me.
Deb: Sam?
Sam: Quiet.
For once Bill and Sam were in accord. I never did find out what Hawk said to
either one of them, but there had been a grudging cease-fire for the last month
and a half. They spoke very little, but
managed to joke with each other a little, though Sam's grin reminded me of an
expression more closely related to people being harassed with pincers and Bill
could barely manage to keep his hands from making fists.
This appeared to be different. This would involve digging and sawing and hammering and tearing
up the yard and making a god-awful fucking mess. It was so much simpler than anything either of them were used to,
it was probably relaxing for them.
Deb: What are
you maniacs doing?
The contractor stopped talking. I'd begun to think concrete wouldn't stop
his mouth.
Contractor:
This'd be the little lady, Bill?
This character was already on my really short list. 'Little lady,' was there a worse phrase in
the world? Run along, little lady, and
let men talk. Grrrr... and what was up
with the first name thing? If they were
already on a first name basis, things were bad.
Bill: Y'might say that, Dick.
Dick? Dick? Well, there it was--if he called me 'little
lady' again, I would just have to call him 'Little Dick.'
They went back to jawing about codes and grades and
struts. I turned to my sure source of
information.
Deb: Ryan, what
are they doing?
Ryan had been amusing himself helping Mick, Three and
Nuala play dolphin. Ryan would go about
the five foot level with a child balanced on his shoulders. He would submerge to the point where the
child's nose was about the only thing showing.
Then he would use his powerful legs to push off from the bottom, rising
straight out of the water. The child
would be pushing off from his shoulders at the same time, to be launched out
over the deep end and execute a perfect watermelon or cannonball. Then the little one would dog-paddle to the
ladder and the whole process would start over with the other one. They were vastly pleased with themselves. When Ryan stopped to talk to me, they
circled him busily, like rowboats around a battleship.
Ryan: The lads
are talkin' about makin' the pool year-round and puttin' in a gym and...
For a minute I didn't hear much of what he was
saying. I was too busy concentrating on
a favorite vision--Elmore in the pool or, more specifically, Elmore just out of
the pool.
Most days Elmore got outside early and churned up the
pool swimming laps. Jade and I never
bothered with that. We'd find excused
to be outside about the time he was finishing up-- that was when the
show started. He would boost himself
out and stand in one fluid movement and there he would be, smooth and straight,
glistening, with muscle definition that made Michaelangelo's David look like
the before picture in a Charles Atlas ad.
It didn't even matter that the trunks he wore looked like something he'd
picked up at a firesale, when he finished off his Powerade and started to towel
himself dry we were mesmerized. Once
Bill had hit me upside the head with a dog toy because I'd been in such a
state. It had been worth taking a
rubber Garfield across the back of the skull.
Then the rest of what Ryan had said started sinking in.
Deb: He wants to
put a Bally's in the backyard? Is he nuts?
Tom strolled up about the time I turned away from Ryan.
Contractor: ...
and's long as you're tearing up the back of the house, we could think about
expanding the deck and remodeling the kitchen for the Mrs., here.
Bill: Mrs.?
Deb: No.
Contractor: No,
what? No, you're not the Mrs....?
Deb: No, I don't
want any fucking yuppie kitchen.
Bill: Shut up,
Punk. I'm listenin'.
My jaw snapped closed by I wasn't done. Yet.
TLJ: Damn, I
wish that worked for me.
Ryan: Doesn't
always work for William, lad.
Bill: Will you
assholes can it for a minute?
I stood behind him, vibrating all over the place. Tom found this hugely funny. Jade finished hanging up school clothes and
succumbed to the pack mentality.
Jade: 'Sup?
Nuala: Mama,
look at me!
Jade turned in time to see Nuala hurtling skyward.
Jade: Jesus!
The child tucked her feet up and went in fanny
first. She soaked her mother
thoroughly. Mick thought his sister's
accomplishment pretty darn wonderful and Nuala came up giggling. A grin twitched the corners of Ryan's mouth
around. Jade had the appearance of a
drowned rat, and the attitude of a wet hen.
She addressed herself to Ryan first.
Jade: Laugh it
up, fuzzball.
This set the twins off again and she nailed them next.
Jade: Yeah,
yeah. We'll see who's laughing at
supper when we have green bean casserole.
Dead, horrified silence met this.
Little Dick was making expansive gestures, encompassing
most of the back and side yard. Bill's
face was neutral. Elmore was perched on
the end of the diving board. Sam was
buffing his nails. Tom had gone up to
the house briefly, returning with an armload of open beer bottles. Neither Jade nor I normally drank beer. Apparently Tom had been unable to manage a
couple of soda cans. It was a good thing. It meant I wouldn't have to put down a can
of pop before destroying someone.
Bill: I already
put on a game room.
His voice was mild, his tone curious as if to say 'but
how can you improve on this?' Little
Dick had the answer.
LD: We'll expand
on that... bring the whole area out this way... put in a master bedroom suite
for you and the Mrs....
Bill: Mrs.?
Deb: There's no
need for that. I like my bedroom just
fine.
Bill might have sounded mild, but I felt desperate.
LD: The master
suite would be on the second level... that'd free up your current master
bedroom for a playroom for the children... computer, television, toys... get it
all contained in one area...
Jade: It is
all contained in one area. It's in
their room.
LD: ... and you
could have a modern tub, get rid of that monstrosity...
Deb: I like
my claw-foot tub! I put that in special!
LD: ... your
bathroom could have a retro theme, with the basin and stool and fixtures in
keeping with that beautiful old cast iron tub...
Jade turned to me, a look of grudging admiration on her
face.
Jade: Pretty
good save.
Deb: Hell! Bill...
Bill: I'm not
tellin' ya twice, Punk.
Sam: Nope. Five or six times, more like. Twice won't be enough.
Deb: I hate you
both.
TLJ: I don't
know if I'd tolerate that kind of shit, Bill.
Deb: Shut up,
freakshow. You're just egging him on.
Bill wrapped a long arm round my head and covered my
mouth. Jade told me later it looked
almost playful. I told her it had been
anything but.
LD: ...we come
out toward the pool, there'll be plenty of room for the weight-room... we can
move the hot tub over into that area...
Jade: What, so
if we want to use the hot tub we have to smell Curex and sweaty gym
socks?
Elmore's socks were notorious.
LD: ... if the
ladies would prefer, we can move it into the pool area... we can put it in a
glassed-in bay and use passive solar heating to warm it...
Bill: Hmmmm....
I licked his palm, hoping he'd yelp and go to wipe his hand
so I could yell some more. He stepped
lightly on my foot. He meant business.
Elmore: That'd
leave some plumbing out there on the deck.
LD: Simple
enough to remove... there would be space enough for a billiard table, maybe
ping pong... there could be a wet bar near your card table...
TLJ: Card
table'd need to be enclosed. The ladies
have imposed some smoking restrictions.
Possibly the deck could be enclosed and the card table, particularly,
could be put there, right off the kitchen.
Couple of pinball machines and a big ass television for football season
in there, it'd be about perfect.
I pried Bill's hand off my face and glared at Tom. Sam patted my ass.
Sam: We're just
talkin', Li'l Sis.
Elmore: We could
have a bar over where the pipes come up for the hot tub now.
Jade: Don't you
get enough of bars?
Deb: Lehman
finds out about that, we'd never get rid of him. Bill, we don't need all
this.
Bill: I haven't
said yes, no or maybe, Punk, now shut the hell up. What if we forget all the game room shit an' make a library...
place for our books... put the TV in there...
Deb: We've
already got a monster.
Bill: Digital
television, girl. Widescreen. Put in a dish.
Deb: Oh, Christ
on a pogo stick.
Elmore: What's
wrong 'th you two? There's women'd kill
for a house like that.
Deb: Those are
the women who bitch about the help. We are
the help.
Jade: Elmore,
some women worry about waxy yellow buildup.
Elmore: So?
Jade: I'm
worried that I'm gonna start worryin'.
I stood behind Bill and beat my head slowly between his
shoulder blades. He reached behind,
grabbed a handful of my side, and squeezed.
I bit his back, and hopped away to stand beside Laughing Boy. Bill wouldn't kill me in front of guests.
TLJ: What's
wrong? It's all a lot of talk.
He nudged me and grinned out from under the hat.
Deb: Bill
doesn't talk. He does things. This is unnecessary and it'll cost a mint. I know he's bored, but this is ridiculous.
Tom examined a foot idly. There was a bug crossing it and he watched, finally lowering his
foot into the grass to allow the creature to continue on its way.
TLJ: Maybe it's
what he wants.
Deb: Maybe.
TLJ: You don't seem convinced.
Deb: Not
really. It's funny... in the two years
I've known him he's gone from a three bedroom ranch with Salvation Army
furniture to a four bedroom hobby farm-house... it broke my heart to leave that
house... it was the nicest place I'd ever lived.
Tom said nothing, just waited. The cheesy grin was gone.
Deb: ...and we
went from that beautiful place to this barn and he just keeps on making it
bigger. Who does he think he is,
William Randolph Hearst?
Tom sputtered around a mouthful of Pig's Eye.
TLJ: What's he
supposed to do? You just keep bringin'
people home. People, and cats, and...
Bill turned from Little Dick.
Bill: ... and
llamas. Don't forget the fuckin'
llamas.
Deb: You suck,
Strannix.
Jade was sitting on the apron of the pool, making
corkscrews of Ryan's hair and pushing him under if she didn't like the effect.
Jade: Like a
Hoover.
TLJ: Sometimes a
person just needs someplace to go where they can let their hair down, be
themselves. Ever think this is Bill's
place, and he just wants it the way he wants it?
Deb: Tell me
about it, O Hollywood geek with eighty-seven houses so you can go to a
different one every time the one you're in gets dirty.
Tom underwent a climate change.
TLJ: What?
His tone was so evil it would have had the devil taking
notes.
Deb: Sorry. That was uncalled for.
TLJ: Yes, it
was.
His face and voice softened immediately. I was glad he considered me a friend. I wouldn't have wanted to be on his
short list.
TLJ: And your
apology is accepted. Darlin', that boy
has all the money you'll ever need.
It's not a matter of affording it, if that's what you're afraid of.
Deb: What, do
you exchange balance sheets?
TLJ: I know
about what he's worth, if that's what you mean.
Deb: Well,
god-damn. I don't.
TLJ: Does he
know what your profit and loss statement looks like?
Deb: He never
used to, but after I bought the Harley he got Lehman to hack into my computer
files and now he knows to the penny.
TLJ: I see.
Deb: Said the
blind man. Hell, I could do a lot of
things to this place if I wanted to but... I'd feel weird, like I was a poser
or something. I'm already in over my
head, sometimes.
Jade: Hey, shut
up.
Deb: Why the
fuck...
Then I heard it.
Little Dick was like a force of nature; he kept on and on and wore you
down. He was talking about the kitchen
and, heaven help me, I got sucked in.
The fact that I didn't want this goon implying that our
kitchen needed remodeling did not, in truth, mean that I believed our kitchen
needed no remodeling. I thought it
needed to be blown up and Jade stalked through it with barely concealed
disgust.
LD: ... we can
replace all the cabinets. You might
want to think about that since we'll need to move the back door...
Damn straight, the back door would need to be
moved. I had no intention of feeling my
way through the original smoke-filled room.
And that would be a perfect opportunity to get rid of the fucking
cabinets--move the patio door over where the larger window was... I started
getting spacey over the possibilities.
Jade: Man, new
cabinets would be cool.
TLJ: Waxy yellow
buildup, anyone?
Jade: Eat a bowl
of...
Before she could complete her thought, Ryan dragged her
into the pool.
Ryan: But ye
said that was all mine, lass.
Bill had bought the place sight unseen, because it had
everything we needed and they were willing to take what he offered. He'd gone on ahead of me to close, and by
the time I pulled up he'd already been there for some time. I came in through the front door and was
instantly captivated. I stayed that way
until I got to the kitchen, otherwise known as the black hole.
The cabinet fronts--European looking white lacquer with
recessed natural oak hardware, and ugly as hell--were just that. Fronts.
Someone had gone for the quick fix and had Sears put new doors and
drawer fronts on the existing cabinets, evil metal monsters from the fifties
that were actually toothpaste green.
Then I noticed the walls. They
were covered with Debbie Mumm's fucking chickens and I screamed and started
hacking at them with a spoon. I had
steamed the goddamn chickens down and painted the walls canary yellow with lime
green trim. The place was scary.
When I started paying attention again, Little Dick was
talking about a walk-in freezer in an expanded pantry.
TLJ: I can get
you one hell of a deal on some prime Texas beef.
Bill: You send me
anything on the hoof and I guarantee you it'll be here in a year's time ridin'
the midget around on its nose.
Nope. I'll join a meat club and
get the Schwans guy out here with pizza and ice cream. Listen here, son, and I'll tell you what you
can do.
He had a list.
Bill: Enclose
the deck and put in a wet bar, make it a game room. Move the back door and crank the deck around, girls like to
barbecue.
Girls? What the
fuck was that?
Bill: Fix up the
kitchen so they leave us the hell alone, freezer and all that shit, talk to
them about appliances. Give me a
library, a place for that big-ass television, a gym and enclose the pool and
hot tub. Secure those, too many kids to
keep an eye on all at once. Second
floor, do up a master suite--
Deb: Bill!
He never even looked.
Bill: Shut
up. Antique fixtures in the bathroom
and a small deck--I like to get outside at night. Jade and Ryan can have the other room--
Jade: Cool!
Deb: You're some
help.
Bill: --so see
what they'd like, then knock out the wall between that room and the Dawg's,
give him some space. Elmore?
Elmore: Hell,
no! I'm fine. I like the gym, m'self.
Deb: Oh, man!
Bill: Tom, you
wanna shut her up? Anyway, I want you
to tear out that bathroom an' use the plumbing stack to make a laundry area on
the second floor. I want a satellite
laundry for kitchen rags an' gym towels on the first floor and I want that
goddamn racket out of my basement. You
find me an architect who can do all that without makin' this place look like
San Simeon and you're on.
I was hoping that Bill would forget this hare-brained
bullshit and find something else to do, buy Rainer a four-wheeler, build a
scale model of the Bon Homme Richard out of toenail clippings, something worthwhile,
anything at all. But Little Dick was
nothing if not an opportunist and he had smelled a sale. He pursued it with the tenacity of a hound
after a fox. Six days later he called
Bill to say that he had a set of drawings and we could come to look at them any
time we wanted.
Deb: I didn’t
know we had an architect.
Bill: Some
punkass he knows.
Deb: Isn’t this
a little fast to have completed drawings?
Bill: Guess
we’ll see.
He wheeled the Harley out of the garage and threw one long leg over the saddle. It was still warm and sticky out, not the end of summer by any means, and he liked to take the bike whenever it was just the two of us going. There was my Cruiser, but he had only black words for it and refused to have anything to do with it. I asked Jade if she wouldn’t mind watching Rainer for a while, and then went to take my place on the motorcycle, ready to go.
Bill: Where’s
your brainbucket?
I hated my fucking helmet.
Deb: Don’t know. Let’s get going so we can get back. Boy’s cutting a tooth and he can be damned owly. It’s not Jade’s problem.
Bill: Where’s
your helmet?
Helmet, now, eh? Asshole.
Deb: It messes up my hair.
Bill: Oh,
fuck. Where’s your helmet?
Deb: It gives me
a headache, man!
One scuffed black boot tapped deliberately.
Bill:
Where’s. Your helmet?
Oh, nuts. Might as well resort to whining, for all the good it would do me.
Deb: You never
wear one!
Bill: One more
time. Where’s –
Jade shot through the front door and down the porch steps. She drove the helmet into my midsection.
Jade: I told
you he wouldn’t forget about it.
Bill: Come on,
let’s move.
I jammed the damn
helmet on over my head and swung onto the bike behind him, grumbling and
sulking and bitching just loudly enough to be heard.
Bill: Keep that
shit up, I’m puttin’ on a sidecar.
There was a potent
threat. I quit in a hurry.
Little Dick’s office was, in the words of Two, ghetto. He invited us to take seats and it was only
the worst sort of look from Bill that could convince me to get near one of his
client chairs. The contractor unrolled
the drawings with a flourish. I glanced
at the name of the architect. It
appeared that Little Dick knew him really well. If I was any guess he was either a son or a nephew,
We looked at pages of front and rear elevations, first
and second level floor plans, kitchen layouts, and all the while I fought
rising hysteria. These plans were for a
very nice executive home. It featured
all of the amenities I’d ever heard of and some I hadn’t. The trouble was, this wasn’t my house. Bill had specified an addition, and I should
have been able to recognize something of our house in the drawings, but there
was nothing of ours there. Bill’s face
was smooth and unreadable.
LD: So. What do you think?
Bill: Those
ours?
Little Dick pointed to
the neatly written legend – ‘W. and D. Strannix’. Hell. The heresy
perpetuated.
Deb: Oh, no.
Bill: Hope you
didn’t tell anybody I was payin’ for these.
LD: Jeremiah was saying that the relationship between the pool and the rest of the house is really bad…
Bill: That a fact?
LD: He really suggests either leveling the house and starting over again to get a correct orientation, or filling in and relocating the pool if you’re going to insist on the enclosure.
Bill: He does, does he?
I recognized that note of false jocularity. Somebody was about to get his ass handed to
him, and, for my money, it couldn’t
have happened to a nicer guy.
Bill stood up, as
usual, filling the small room, and leaned over the desk. He shoved himself deep into the smaller
man’s space.
Bill: I’m only
gonna say this once, so pay attention.
I want you t’be able to pass this on to Mr. Frank Lloyd Wrong. I told you what I was willin’ to pay for, an
addition with some remodeling to the existing structure. This is not what I want.
Damn, Annapolis was
fighting to get out.
LD: Jeremiah
says he’d have to put most of the addition underground. You won’t get any natural light.
Bill: Well,
sonofabitch! Your boy keeps on, they
might just let ‘im design an airport pay toilet yet! Underground is where I want the damn thing. I’m talkin’ a sauna, laundry room and a home
gym, just how much fuckin’ natural light d’you people think we need? I want what I want and I won’t pay for
anything else, got it? Now have your
boy draw me up somethin’ that looks like what I want or I’ll find
somebody who can. Meantime, he can
peddle this sorry sack of derivative Prairie style bullshit someplace else, I
don’t wanna see it again.
.
Deb: You heard the man.
Bill: Girl.
I went to his side.
Deb: Everything Frank Lloyd Wright ever did looks
like a glorified dentist’s office.
TO BE CONTINUED……