“Hey, kid, what you think? We take this car, sell it, make big money.”
Roy was waiting for his mother in her Buick Roadmaster convertible while she was inside her boyfriend Irwin’s building on Clinton Street. Roy was six years old. It was mid-July but the late morning air was still cool and the car’s top was up. His mother had said she’d be back in a couple of minutes, just long enough for her to pick up a few things from Irwin. His company manufactured women’s undergarments: slips, panties, girdles, brassieres and hosiery. He owned a factory in Jackson, Mississippi, where the goods were made, and the building on Clinton Street in Chicago, where the design and shipping departments were located.
The small, brown man peered into the car. He had thick eyebrows and a thin mustache and was wearing a Panama hat.
“We get the money, go to Puerto Rico. I am from there, have many friends. We get the money, we are rico there, muy rico.”
Roy’s mother had left her keys dangling from the ignition. Roy, who was in the back seat, saw them and crawled into the front seat and took out the keys. Irwin’s building was on the south side, neighbored by factories and meatpacking plants, all brown and gray brick buildings.
“What you say, chico? We go, huh?”
“No,” Roy said. “This is my mother’s car, she needs it.”
“She rich. She get a new one.”
“My father will shoot you.”
Roy’s mother came out of Irwin’s building carrying two bags. The small, brown man walked away.
“It took a little longer than I thought it would, Roy. Were you worried?”
“No, Mom.”
She put the bags on the back seat.
“You stay up front with me,” she said.
“Did you see that little guy in the straw hat?”
His mother slid in behind the steering wheel.
‘Where are my keys?”
Roy handed them to her.
“They were in the ignition. I took them out.”
She adjusted the rear view mirror, then started the engine.
“What little guy, Roy?”
“A Puerto Rican man. He wanted me to steal the car with him.”
“Don’t be silly. He would have to be crazy to steal a car with a child in it.”
“I told him Dad would shoot him if he did.”
“You have such an imagination.”
Roy’s mother started driving.
“What if I told you that I’m thinking of marrying Irwin? After my divorce from your father is final, of course.”
“He’s too short for you, Mom.”
“He is short, but he’s very nice to me, and to you, too.”
“Where are we going now?”
“I have to make one more quick stop, and then we can have lunch. Would you like to go to the Edgewater?”
“Have you ever been to Puerto Rico?”
“Yes, twice. Once with your father, and once with Johnny Salvavidas. Remember him, Roy? You were on his boat.”
“Did Irwin ask you to marry him?”
“Not yet.”
“Maybe he won’t.”
Roy’s mother was a good driver. He always felt safe in the car with her. She drove for several blocks before Roy saw that she was crying.
“What’s wrong, Mom? Are you upset?”
“Not really, Roy. Maybe you’re right. Maybe Irwin doesn’t want to get married.”
“You could get anyone to marry you. You’re beautiful and smart.”
“And I have a good sense of humor. Don’t I, Roy? We laugh a lot, don’t we?”
“Yes, Mom. You’re really funny.”
“Hand me my dark glasses. They’re in the glove compartment.”
She put the glasses on.
“Did you stop crying?”
“Don’t worry, Roy. I’m fine now.”
They were driving next to the lake. The water was calm and many sailboats were out.
“What if I had been a girl?” Roy asked. “I mean, if you had a daughter instead of a son.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Would you act different with her than you do with me?”
“What a strange question. I don’t know, probably. Why did you ask me that?”
Roy watched the sailboats struggle to catch some wind. He didn’t feel like talking to his mother any more.