The Son of Someone Famous (9 page)

“That's
your
little game,” Dr. Blessing said. “It isn't the cat's idea of a game, or she wouldn't scratch you. You tickle her too hard! How would you like some monster fifty times your size digging her fingers into
your
belly? That's what
it feels like to that poor creature! You don't know how to handle a cat; you shouldn't own a cat!”

“Why, you old drunk,” Billie Kay said. “Who are you to tell
anyone
how to handle
anything
?”

“I am a doctor of veterinary medicine!” he said. “And I happen to be sober enough to see why that cat is a nervous wreck! Leave her the hell alone! Stop using her like a goddamn toy! Let the creature relax! Let her sleep without you mauling her! Let her sit for a while and clean herself without you picking her up and messing up her fur! If you want something you can hug and lavish attention on, get a big hound dog! That's a little creature up there on the curtains!”

Billie Kay sat down on the couch shaking her head from side to side. “You are something,” she said. “You are something to write home about, Mr. Doctor Blessing! That cat is my treasure. I would no more hurt that cat than I would put my own hand in fire!”

“She's not a relaxed animal, anyone can see that,” Dr. Blessing said. “She won't even come to you when you call her.”

“Cats don't!” Billie Kay said.

“Cats
do,
if you treat them properly. That little thing is practically wild.”

“She's high-strung,” said Billie Kay. “She's Siamese.”

“You're high-strung,” Dr. Blessing said, “and she reflects it!”

I said, “It must be wonderful to be an old movie star.” I was hoping to break up the argument.

“You can see how wonderful it is,” Billie Kay said. “You can see how much respect an
old
movie star gets.”

“You're younger than I am,” Dr. Blessing said.

“God himself is younger than you are,” Billie Kay said. “Methuselah is younger than you are.”

Adam walked into the room at that point. “What's all the shouting about?” he said.

“She asked for conversation and she got it,” Dr. Blessing said.

“It's such gracious conversation, too,” Billie Kay said.

“What's Janice doing up on the curtains?” Adam asked.

“Trying to escape before she's tickled to death,*' Dr. Blessing said.

“Are you two fighting?” Adam asked.

“Oh, no, love,” Billie Kay answered. “We're just having a friendly discussion about the fact I'm not a fit person to own a cat!”

“Grandpa!” Adam said. “Why would you say something like that?”

“Because I don't like cruelty to animals!” he said.

“Never mind
people
!” Billie Kay said.

“People can take care of themselves,” Dr. Blessing snapped.

I said, “I brought you a Christmas present, Adam, to celebrate our going steady.”

“Adam!” Billie Kay exclaimed. “What nice news!”

“Congratulations,” Dr. Blessing mumbled as he passed us on his way into the kitchen. “That calls for a beer.”

“Doesn't everything?” Billie Kay said sarcastically.

He began slamming things around in the kitchen, and Billie Kay leaned forward and beckoned Adam and me closer. “Why don't you two go for a walk?” she said. “You probably want to spend a little time alone together on Christmas Day. Dinner won't be ready for hours.”

“No, really,” Adam said. “We can see each other all the time. We'll stay right here.”

“A.J.,” Billie Kay said, “take Betty Belle for a walk!”

“Honestly, Billie Kay,” Adam said, we
want
to stay here.”

“I don't want you to!” she said. “I have a few things to get off my chest with that ornery character in the kitchen!”

“He doesn't mean what he's saying,” Adam said.

“Oh, yes, he does! And I mean what I'm going to say to him!”

“She wants us to go, Adam,” I said.

“Just blow, A.J.! Come back in about an hour!”

We walked along Ski Tow Avenue in the bright sun.

“I hope they'll be all right together,” Adam said.

“My present for you is this sweet potato,” I said, taking it out of my coat pocket and handing it to him.

“Fine, fine,” he laughed. “I have some old coffee grounds for you.”

“You don't understand,” I said. “I'm not kidding. You put this in a glass of water, stick in three toothpicks so it'll hang in the glass, and it'll begin to sprout green buds in no time. It has Nothing Power.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I'll try it.” He put the potato in his coat.

“It'll be a gorgeous plant before you know it,” I said, “and you can pot it. I have a reason for giving it to you, aside from Nothing Power.”

“What is it?”

“Since we're going steady now, I'm teaching you about beautiful things . . . since I'm not a beautiful thing.”

“I don't get you, Brenda Belle.”

“This will become a beautiful thing, but after it's a beautiful thing for a while, it'll change,” I said.

“How will it change?”

“It'll begin to stink,” I said. “It will make you realize that beauty is not that big a deal, just in case you wish you were going steady with a beauty contest winner.”

Adam laughed. “I'm satisfied with you, Brenda Belle.”

“That's another thing. Try to call me ‘honey' or ‘darling' or something besides my name. It won't be believable if you don't.”

“I'll try,” he said.

“And I'll need something of yours. How about that ring you're wearing?”

“It's my father's ring,” he said.

“Adam, it's just a loan.”

“Okay,” he said. “I guess it'll be okay.” He took it off and handed it to me. “Don't lose it, though. It was his school ring.”

“You can have it back anytime you ask for it,” I said. I tried it on, but it was too big. I planned to put it on a chain and wear it around my neck.

I said, “What does your father do, Adam?”

“He travels around a lot.”

“Is he a traveling salesman?”

“You could say that.”

“My father was in the rodeo,” I said. “He was a star.”

“That's very exciting,” Adam said.

“I'm not saying my father was better than your father because mine was a star and yours is just a salesman, but sometimes blood will tell.”

“I suppose so,” Adam said.

“My secret desire is probably to be a writer,” I said. “I keep these notebooks I call ‘Notes for a Novel' and I write down everything that happens—when anything happens, which it doesn't often.”

I caught a glimpse of Ty Hardin walking toward us. He was probably coming from Christine Cutler's.

Adam was saying, “I don't know what I'll be. I used to want to be a doctor. An M.D. . . . But I hate science.”

Ty Hardin is just about THE most handsome boy in Storm, and maybe in all of Burlington County.

He's a towhead, and his hair is silky and longer than other boys' hair. Everything about Ty is a little more special than the others, including, I suppose, his girlfriend, initials: C.C.

“Here comes Ty Hardin,” said Adam.

“Big deal,” I said, but I was by no means immune to Tyrone Hardin. As he came closer, I felt suddenly tongue-tied, rubber-kneed, gross.

“Merry Christmas, Ty!” said Adam.

“Hi, Adam, Brenda Belle. Merry Christmas.”

My mouth got loose from my mind. “Well, how was the old Noel party at the Cutlers'?” I asked him.

Ty made a face. He said, “Snore.”

I laughed and laughed.

Ty put his folded hands up under his chin and made ZZZZZ noises.

I cracked up again.

Adam said, “It was boring, huh?”

I said, “Oh no, it was fab, wasn't it, Ty? It was marvy. It was a barrel of, huh, Ty?” I nudged his ribs with my elbow.

“It was a barrel of, all right,” he smiled at me.

I laughed again, holding my sides because they were beginning to hurt. “Another gala evening at Christine Cutler's, wheeeeee!”

“Well, see you,” Ty said, passing us with a little wave.

“Not if we see you first!” I called back. Then I shouted after him, “Hey, Ty! We're an item! Adam and I are going steady!”

He turned around and bowed. “Wheeeeeeee! Another gala romance,” he said in a flat tone. Then he went on down the road.

“I think they had a fight!” I said. “My Glory be!”

“What do you care?” Adam said.

“I don't,” I said.

“She probably didn't want me to come to her party because my grandfather and her father don't get along,” he said.

I felt guilty that I'd ever told him that, but not guilty enough to admit the truth. I said, “Anyway, my mother
knows things about Dr. Cutler that are repulsive and revolting.”

“What things?” said Adam.

“I don't know, she won't say. . . . Hey, Adam,” I said. “He deserves Nothing Power, too. Dr. Cutler. I mean, if he's done repulsive and revolting things, he deserves it, too. Plus the fact his wife is a terrible nag.”

“We'll make a list right after the holidays,” said Adam. “Meanwhile, have you written Ella Early that mash note?”

“Me?” I said, “Me? Why do I have to write another female a mash note? With my inferiority complex on that subject, that isn't fair, even or equal!”

“Life isn't fair, even or equal. I told you that,”

Adam said. “You said you'd write it, so write it. You're the one who wants to be a writer.”

“Dear Ella Early,” I said. “This is your secret admirer, the dry cleaner. I have fallen in love with the smell of chalk dust on your dresses.”

From the Journal of A.

We didn't wait for the holidays to end to establish Nothing Power. We decided that during the holidays was a perfect time to launch our campaign, since miserable people were all the more miserable between Christmas and New Year's.

Our campaign began modestly with four undertakings.

1. Ella Early: Brenda Belle composed a brilliant mash note from an anonymous student. She made it sound as though he truly idolized her, and that because of her he wanted to become a world-famous scientist. He explained that he was much too shy to identify himself, but that he hung on her every word in class: She was his inspiration in life. We mailed it to the rooming house where Ella Early lived.

2. Marilyn Pepper: I picked out a Hallmark card, one of those “From Your Secret Friend” kind. It had a very sentimental verse, all about “and I think of you each night until the morning light.” We put a question mark where a name would ordinarily go, and sent it to her home.

3. Dr. Cutler: Brenda Belle found an old-fashioned
postcard printed in the year 1927. She bought it at Modell's Antique Nook for seventy-five cents. There were three big red roses across the front, and the words: WHEREVER THIS MAY FIND YOU, I TRUST IT WILL REMIND YOU, OF ONE YOU LEFT BEHIND YOU. Brenda Belle figured that ought to make Mrs. Cutler appreciate him. . . . We didn't sign it; we just sent it to him at home.

4. Rufus Kerin: We simply asked him to the New Year's Eve party.

The New Year's Eve party was Billie Kay's idea. At that point, everything going on at my grandfather's was her idea, from the idea she was going to stay in Storm for a while longer to the idea my grandfather was going to give up drinking while she was there.

Billie Kay had taken over. She had driven down to Burlington one afternoon to shop for “a few new outfits” to wear while she stayed in Storm. She also came back with a sport coat for my grandfather, some new slacks and shirts for him, and a bright red V-neck cashmere sweater for me.

“I don't see how you're going to keep your identity a secret at this party,” I told her on the morning of New Year's Eve. “Everyone is going to recognize you.”

“You let me worry about that,” she said. “I can always handle that situation.”

We were making sandwiches in the kitchen the afternoon of the party, and she was waiting for the taxi to take her back to the hotel for some beauty sleep before the big event.

My grandfather was making a pot of Boston baked
beans. He'd made them for me the first night I'd arrived in Storm. I remember that he'd called Late Night Larry that night, to explain the difference between New England cooking and Southern cooking. (“The old New England households had one hired girl, at best, to do all the chores. A lot of New England dishes are the kind you don't have to watch. They just boil on top of the stove. But the old Southern households had a lot of Negro slaves, and that's why Southern cooking is more complicated, with fried foods and recipes that require watching.” . . . “Why, thank you, Chuck From Vermont. What a fascinating morsel, ha ha, to pass on to Radioland!”)