SATURDAY MORNING, I reheated Hawaiian pizza left over from last night’s dinner. Dad opted for a cup of coffee and a grapefruit. We settled at opposite ends of the kitchen table to eat.
“So, Brodie, what have you got up for today?” Dad asked. “You and Abe got plans?”
“Not really.” I gnawed the corner off a pizza slice and chewed slowly. I’d nuked the darn thing a little too long, making it about as tough as the sole of a shoe. “I’ll just head over to his house later and we’ll hang out.”
Dad smiled as he lifted his coffee mug. “Well, whatever you do, just have fun with your friend. You deserve that, you know.” When I didn’t say anything, he lowered his head and gave me this sort of goading look. “You do know that, don’t you, Brodie?”
“Yeah, I know, Dad.”
After he finished his grapefruit, Dad said he was going to sit outside on the patio and have another cup of coffee while he read the newspaper. I refilled his mug, stirred in cream and sugar the way he liked, and carried it outside to him. I shivered in my T-shirt and boxers. The morning was cold and a little foggy, and the air smelled of the fresh mulch I’d spread around our shrubs and trees yesterday, but Dad seemed thrilled sitting at the little bistro table on our patio.
He smiled gratefully when I put the steaming mug in front of him. “Thank you, son.” He unfolded the newspaper.
“Uh… I’m gonna grab a shower and head out, Dad. I’ll see you later.”
He waved goodbye. I went back to the kitchen, loaded our breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, wiped down the table, and then took a quick shower. After leaving the bathroom, I detoured by Dad’s room and sprayed on some of his cologne. Back in my room, I dressed in jeans, loafers, and a gray pullover sweater. Abe would’ve said I was trying to look like a prep school kid. My hair was still damp, which made it curl tighter than usual. It looked as if I had a wet skull cap on my head, which was fine with me. It was more conservative than the spiky, wild look I got when my hair frizzed totally out.
I slipped on my jacket and walked six blocks through the still, crisp morning air to the J Square, otherwise known as downtown Jeddersville. There I boarded a bus destined for Midtown Memphis.
THE BUS was barely a quarter full when it left Jeddersville. It usually filled up along its route with people heading into the big city for Saturday shopping and fun. I was settled at the back of the bus, as far from my fellow passengers as I could get, my legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Before I lost that relative privacy, I decided to give Mom a call.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Mom.” I kept my voice down. “You sound funny. Did I wake you up?”
“Yes, but it’s okay. I’m working nine to noon and should’ve been up thirty minutes ago.” She yawned loudly over the phone. “I had a late night.”
“Late night?”
“Don’t sound so worried, hon. I was home, not out drinking. I just had trouble sleeping. I haven’t had a drink since the binge that put me in the hospital.”
“That’s great. I’m proud of you, Mom. You’re really doing it. The AA meetings, not drinking… you’re beating it.”
She laughed in that if-you-only-knew way. “This isn’t as easy as you make it sound. I still crave wine. Sometimes it feels as if I’ll go crazy without it. But I’m committed and doing my best to stay on track.”
“Okay. How can I help?”
“Just keep being the stellar son you are, Brodie.”
“Come on, Mom—”
“And now let’s change the subject. How have you been? How’s school?”
“I’m fine and school’s fine. So this new job has you working on Saturdays?”
“No, my regular shift is Monday through Friday. I’m just covering for another worker who needed some time off this morning.”
“Well, I’ll come by this afternoon with my stuff. Maybe we can watch a movie or something. And then tomorrow we—”
“Wait, honey. I don’t think I’m ready for you to start staying over again yet.”
“Mom, there’s a court order that says I get to be with you on weekends. We can’t let Dad keep me away from you like this.”
“This has nothing to do with your dad. It’s what I need now. You asked earlier how you can help me. Well, the biggest favor you could do for me is to let me be alone for a while. I have to focus on getting better, and I can’t do that if I have to worry about you. We can still talk from time to time, and when I’m better, I promise I will make this up to you.”
“Okay, Mom… all right.”
“And I’m sorry, hon, but I have to get ready for work now. I’ll call you later.”
“Sure thing.”
After the call disconnected, I took out my headphones and plugged them in. I pulled up one of my playlists, slipped the headphones over my ears, closed my eyes, and tuned out.
Sometimes that’s all you could do.
I’D NEVER been to Playhouse on the Square, never even heard of it until Mr. D’s friend Sylvia mentioned it that evening she made dinner for him. The building was contemporary, modular, taking up most of a block on Cooper Street at the eastern edge of Midtown. The main entrance was open. There was no one in the lobby, but a sign posted prominently on the wall across from the door told me where I needed to go.
I turned off my phone as I went down the hall. The steady hum of voices drew me directly to the conference room I wanted. Inside the large room, a group of seven actors and actresses were sitting around a table at the far side, each holding what looked like a script. Chairs had been arranged in rows before the table, about three-quarters of them occupied. That was a pretty decent turnout for a Saturday morning, in my opinion. It was only a few minutes before the reading was scheduled to start. The room buzzed with energy and anticipation. I scanned the audience, saw who I was looking for, and broke into a grin.
I didn’t notice anyone else—didn’t need or want to. Hurriedly, I went to the front row. He was sitting right at the center of the row, saying something to the person seated next to him. Seeing him now was like Christmas morning. “Hey, Mr. D.”
He looked up at me, surprised. Then he smiled that wonderful smile of his. “Hey, Brodie. Glad you could make it.”
“Good morning, kid.” Sylvia sat to his left. She waved at me in that silky slow-motion style, fingers folding down to her palm one after the other.
“Oh. Hi.” The seat to Mr. D’s right was vacant, as if it had been saved just for me. I took it.
Mr. D sort of leaned away from me, still smiling but with this expression on his face as if I’d done something totally brash and badass. “Well, okay,” he said, more to Sylvia than to me. “I guess we should get this thing started.”
He stood up and went to the table, where he leaned down to say something quietly to a tall, slender, hawkish-looking older woman.
Sylvia leaned across the vacant seat between us. “That’s Helene Vance. She personally selected Paco’s new play for production.”
Sylvia said that with pride, as if it should really mean something to me. I couldn’t figure what I was supposed to take from that. All I could think was how much I liked the cowboy look Mr. D was rocking this morning in his jeans and boots and denim shirt.
Helene Vance whispered something to Mr. D. Then, as he returned to his seat, she stood up.
“Good morning, everyone,” she called out, raising her hands to quiet the chatter in the room. “My name is Helene Vance. I’m the resident director at Playhouse on the Square. I’m very pleased to welcome you to the first reading of a dynamic new work by an up-and-coming local playwright, the very talented Mr. Paco Dakota.”
Everybody clapped, including the actors and actresses at the table. I pumped my fists in the air. Mr. D smiled and blushed a little. Blushing looked cute on him.
“This is the first step on the long march to the full production next summer to open our new season,” the director went on. “We welcome your feedback. In fact, that’s why we decided to open this first reading to the public. So, sit back, relax, and feel free to open up once we’re done.”
I was happy for Mr. D. I’d been happy for him since he announced in class yesterday that the Playhouse would be producing his new play and invited the class to attend today’s reading. He was so excited; you could see that plain as day, although he kept up his usual veneer of cool calm. I didn’t think any of the other students would drag themselves out of bed to make the 9:00 a.m. reading, but there was no way in the world I would have missed it.
With Abe back in town, I’d hoped to hang out with him today. I’d missed him a lot. When I asked about coming over to his place, he told me the track team had a practice session this morning. Since he’d already missed four sessions while he was out of town for his grandmother’s funeral, he didn’t want to skip this one.
I was disappointed then, and a little hurt. But that was before Mr. D announced the invitation to the class. I was so happy sitting in that conference room next to him. This was where I was meant to be.
THERE WAS booming applause and a standing ovation after the last line of the play had been read. Part of it was for the performers, who put in a lot of emotion even just sitting around a table reading directly from the script. But the biggest part of it was for the play, which told a haunting but ultimately triumphant story of a young man who almost committed suicide because his mother blamed him for the death of his father. Tears welled in my eyes so hard I could barely keep them in. I suspected the main character’s feelings of worthlessness had been true of Mr. D when he was in foster care, and when he found out his boyfriend was cheating on him. Maybe he still felt worthless. God, I hoped not. He was an amazing guy.
I didn’t want to break down right there in the conference room. With my head down, I bit my lip hard until the pain drove the threatening tears away.
Amid the continuing applause, Helene Vance motioned at Mr. D. “Paco, come join us at the table. We’ll have a little Q and A with the audience while we get their feedback.”
Mr. D stood up, and the clapping and cheering grew louder. Sylvia stood up and hugged him. I checked the clock hanging on the wall above the table; it read 10:37. The bus back to Jeddersville would be leaving at 11:00. I had just enough time to make it to the bus stop if I left the Playhouse now. I wanted to stay for the question and answer section, to ask Mr. D where he got the inspiration for the main character. I wanted to hang out with him afterward. Not just because Abel was hanging with his friends—which he had every right to do—and that meant I’d spend the rest of the day alone. No, I wanted to hang with Mr. D because… he needed me. Crazy. That sounded crazy, and I knew it did. But the feeling was as real as the air I breathed. Mr. D needed me, and I needed him.
I didn’t want to just leave and go back home.
Sylvia let Mr. D go, and he said, “I’ll see you later, Syl. Don’t forget to stop by my house and feed Caulfield.”
She smiled indulgently at him. “Gee, Paco, that’s the tenth time you reminded me. I’ve got it, okay? Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not a ditz. Now get over there.” She waved him off, and he glided smoothly to the table and took a seat. She grabbed her purse and jacket and turned to me. “Well, I have to go, Brodie. It was nice seeing you again.”
Suddenly I had an idea how I could get some real quality time with Mr. D. It was iffy as hell, and I had to put things in motion immediately if it was to have any chance of working. “Sylvia, I came down on the bus. Is it okay if I ride back to Jeddersville with you?”
“Sure. I’d enjoy the company.” She pulled on her jacket. “Come on, let’s go.”