I told Mr. B I was going running, but I had bigger things to do, too. He had Saturday-morning practice, and we ate breakfast together.
“You know your mom and I will be out late tonight?”
“She told me.”
“Don’t forget your house keys,” he said. “And have a good time at the dance.”
Outside, Dad was parked at the curb. He got out of the taxi as I walked down the driveway.
“Hey, Dad, is something wrong?”
“Everything’s fine, Vinnie. Nothing to worry about.” I was already realizing that was true. He looked … happy. He held out a gallon-sized water-filled plastic bag. “I brought you a couple of fish. Canaries to your coal mine.”
“I think the chemistry is good,” I said. There were two angelfish trying to maintain some stability in the quivering bag. “They’re beautiful.”
“Go drop the bag in the tank. Their water temp has to adjust before you open the bag.”
“I remember.” I tossed my backpack into the car.
Dad took a closer look at me. “You got into another fight?”
I pulled one shoulder up in half a shrug. “I was moving a filing cabinet and the drawer slid out.”
“Nothing’s broken?”
“It doesn’t look that bad, does it?”
“Swellings are worse in the morning. I think. Same drawer that hit you before?”
“Not a word to Mom. Mr. B covered for me.”
This wasn’t quite enough to relieve Dad’s mind. “Is it over with now?”
“I think so. I hit him back this time. Big surprise to both of us. Why are you here so early? You don’t usually drive at this hour, do you?”
“I took a different shift. I’ve got a small part in a film. Three lines.”
“Cool.”
Mr. B was coming out as I took the fish in, on his way to a practice. He saw Dad, said good morning, and shook hands. From the bay window, I saw there was a little eyebrow action from Dad, probably questioning whether the trouble with Biff was really over, and Mr. B made a little punching motion and clapped him on the shoulder.
“They look like they might get along,” Mom said as she came up behind me. I agreed, although I didn’t care to get all aren’t-we-all-one-big-happy-family about it.
“Do me a favor? Open the bag and let them out in an hour or so, okay?”
“Sure.”
When I got back outside, Mr. B and Dad were laughing together, and then Mr. B was on his way. It was sort of a relief that he was. It was fine with me that Dad and Mr. B didn’t have to be enemies, but I wasn’t ready to stand around being the son and the stepson at the same time. Not yet.
Dad saw me coming and said, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, son. How’s about I join you for a turn around the track?”
He drove me to the school, not talking much. When we got out, we avoided looking in the direction of Mr. B and the team. We walked around the track, partly because Dad hasn’t been becoming a runner, but more because I didn’t feel we were doing this so I could show my stuff. About the second time around, Dad got up his nerve.
“I don’t know how you’re going to take this, Vinnie. But I’m seeing someone.”
“You’re entitled. You don’t have to get my okay.”
“I felt like I needed to.”
“You don’t need to. Do I know her?”
“It’s Mona.”
“Mona the meddler?” I asked, to seem surprised.
“She’s a nice woman.”
“She is! I like her. I feel like we’ve always known her, right?”
“Lately she started bringing over these posters to put on the wall,” Dad said. “I asked her to hang around, have a bite to eat. We got to know each other without all the noise.”
“Other people looking on.”
“I know this is hard on you. But I can’t wait until you’re too old to care what I’m doing with my life,” he said, with just a trace of impatience.
I said, “I’m glad you’re happier.”
“I’m glad your mother’s happier,” Dad said. “Frankly, I think I’m happier. I want what’s best for all of us, and it may turn out, someday, that right now we’re in the painful process of getting just that.”
That hung in the air between us for what seemed like a long time. And I can’t say it didn’t get to me. I finally formed a response to it. “I hope you know, I won’t be feeling sorry for you anymore.”
Dad laughed and said, “God, that’ll be a relief.”
I expected to find the locker room empty.
“Hey, Gold, you joining the track team?”
This from a wiry senior. He was already on the team, and even though the dean had introduced me to him, I was uncertain how good a reception I was going to get.
“Better the track team than the buffalo boys,” I said, hoping he didn’t have a wider brother on the football team.
“Good thinking,” he said. “My brother’s going to be the time to beat. Dancing made him strong. Fast. Not all those ballerinas are lightweights, you know.”
“Daniel,” I said, grinning.
“Yeah.” Some kind of big-brother protectiveness came into play. “You don’t think ballet is sissy, do you?”
I laughed. “I won a quickstep competition a couple of years ago.”
“Quickstep?”
“Ballroom dancing. I hope there’s room for more than one of us on the team.”
“Oh, yeah, but he’s going to be the star.”
“We’ll see.” I slipped the bundled-up mask out of my backpack and into my gym locker. It started to unroll, but I yanked the sweater out of my backpack and covered it up. I left both items in the locker.
When I was thirteen and fourteen, I went out trick-or-treating with a black satin cape Dad got from a bit part he did in a movie. I didn’t go so much for the candy as for the excuse to swoop around in a cape that made me feel a little wild. Bold.
Juvenile stuff, I know, but between you and me, I keep that cape hanging in my closet. Sometimes I even put it on when I’m just in my room or something. Probably a touch of theatrical blood in my veins.
That night, I pulled out those black leather pants that happened to be terrific now that seriously cold weather had set in, and matched them with a black silk shirt I wore for dance contests. The cape no longer brushed against my heels like the first time I’d worn it, but it hung below my knees. Good enough.
I stood close to the mirror and slowly turned my face from side to side. Not too bad. A faint discoloration. The fat lip was only a little pouty. I cut eye holes in a strip of black T-shirt fabric and tied it over my face like a headband. I was slick. Symbolic.
Zorro.
I cut a few moves in front of the mirror. More than were strictly necessary to know if the cape worked, which it did—it shimmied, it swirled, it draped, like great hair.
And then I headed out.
Mr. B’s school keys were on his dresser. Although I would no doubt get home before he and Mom did, I just slipped the marked book room key off the ring, leaving the key ring lying there where he’d left it. I thought it over and removed the bar dogger that would open the gates that stretched across the ends of the corridors after hours. He wouldn’t miss the keys even if I had to wait until tomorrow to return them. Mr. B wouldn’t bother with anything but his car keys until Monday. The man was regular as a prison guard.