Grade-wise, I scraped by. Mr. Treadwell and I had a couple of little talks, with him trying to find out what was wrong and me sure as hell I wasn’t going to reveal anything. What business was it of his, anyway? Who was he to me? He wasn’t even a guidance counselor. Sure, he’d been decent, but I’d earned that B in history last semester. Maybe I was barely earning a C now, but that was up to me. He kept trying to tell me that college would be—what were his words? an unfulfilled dream, I think—if I couldn’t get my grades up. I made a bit of an effort toward the end and did well enough on finals to avoid disgracing myself altogether, but it was not gonna be Harvard or Princeton for me in a year. As long as I could go someplace. Get away from here.
Marty and I managed to recover our friendship, such as it was, at school. He finally agreed—much to my surprise—that maybe he hadn’t been clear about my paying for his romp in the hay, and after trying to make it my fault that the police had shown up he admitted that I couldn’t have known that we wouldn’t end up needing any assistance, or that Eric would just get in a few licks and leave, so even though he caught hell at home for his part in our evening out, he was kind of used to that. Plus he liked making a show of how little it meant to him to have his father mad at him.
On weekends, at the store, Dad and I talked only as much as we had to. He told me to stack the dog food bags, and that’s what I did. He told me to take inventory of the angelfish, and that’s what I did. I got a tiny salary, which he put directly into the bank account I couldn’t get at. I couldn’t bring myself to speak much to him at home either, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna ride with him in his car to work and back, so I rode my bike, rain or shine.
Every once in a while Marty and Kevin would stop in, but unless they showed up on Sunday, Dad’s day off, he usually sent them packing. Once I didn’t know they were there until I heard Marty’s voice shouting, “It’s a free country!”
Just before school ended, Dad informed me that I’d have to work at the store all summer, and not just on weekends. I nearly threw a fit, but I was pretty beaten down by then and didn’t really have the energy. He also told me I’d have to train the new guy, some kid named JJ O’Neil who’d just graduated high school with all kinds of honors and was headed to Cornell in the fall. Just my kind of guy. I’d seen kids streaming in and out of Dad’s office, interviewing for summer jobs, but I hadn’t paid much attention.
Sure enough, on the first Monday after school let out for the summer, when I got to work JJ was already there. Brownnoser, I thought to myself, showing up earlier than me on his first day, and it wasn’t like I was late. He was already destined for greatness, according to my dad, so what did he have to prove? Worse still, Dad had made me come in on Monday, which was going to be my one day of the week off, just to train the guy.
I wheeled my bike through the rear entrance that leads into the stockroom, pushed through the heavy door into the store, braced myself for the wave of smells—bird shit, dog pee covered by antiseptic, fish algae, hamster cage, and two or three things I couldn’t quite name and didn’t really want to—and there he was, hunched over and labeling cans of cat food. All I could see was his back covered by a white short-sleeved shirt and really dark hair on his head. I ignored him.
First thing I did was try and scout Dad out and avoid him, so that as long as possible I could also avoid him telling me to work with the kid. I listened carefully outside the office door, near the front of the store, and it seemed Carol was in there on the phone. I peeked around the corner. She saw me and beckoned me in while she finished her conversation. I waited patiently. She’d kept on being decent to me, even though I’d bet anything Dad had told her exactly what had happened, why I was suddenly working at the store, and why there was so much dead air between us.
“Hey, Paul. Did you meet JJ yet?” I shook my head, afraid of what I was about to hear. “You’re in for a treat. He’s a great kid. Smart, too. Your dad’s got him doing cat food at the moment, but he said if I saw you first—stop me if you’ve seen your dad—that you were to introduce yourself and show him how to clean the fish tanks. Do you want to go find JJ, or shall I come with you?”
Oh well. Guess there’s no avoiding the kid. “No, I’ll find him, thanks. Um, why are you in today? Don’t you have Mondays off?”
“Just here for the morning, to get the paperwork for the summer help in order.” She gestured toward a couple of folders on the desk. I knew they would contain whatever was needed by way of personnel records. “And you? Don’t you have Mondays off, too? It’s the slowest day of the week.”
“Dad wanted me to be here for JJ’s first day. Um, by the way, what’s with the name?”
“Hmmm?”
“What does ‘JJ’ stand for?”
“I don’t remember.” She waved a hand, smiled, and then bent over something on the desk. It seemed kind of unlikely she’d have forgotten already—she was working with the personnel files, after all—but I turned and left, wondering what the big secret might be.
JJ was still where I’d seen him, whipping price tags onto the cans like he’d done it all his life. It wasn’t a tough job, I don’t mean that, but there’s a rhythm you get into that takes a little practice. Practice he obviously didn’t need.
I stood next to him a minute, waiting to see if he’d notice me. When he saw my sneaker he froze, almost like he was bracing himself for something. Slowly he stood, still looking wary. He tossed the gun into his left hand and looked up at me. He may have been a year older than me, but he was probably two inches shorter. His eyes were really dark, almond shaped, and his features were a little delicate. Almost pretty. Skin was slightly dark. It wasn’t tanned, exactly, but it had color to it. He looked a little exotic, or something.
When I figured I’d left a little bit of an impression I held out my right hand, and we shook. “I’m Paul Landon.”
“JJ O’Neil.”
“Yeah, I know.” I pointed to the labeler. “You used one of those before?”
He kept his eyes on my face, almost like he could read my intentions there and didn’t want to miss anything. He nodded. “I’ve worked in food stores, supermarkets, most summers.”
Which explains that, anyway. I nodded, barely making note of the slight lilt to his speech. “Dad asked me to show you how to clean fish tanks.”
He smiled then, finally, and his face changed from wary to…I dunno, maybe bright? I couldn’t help but smile back. He said, “Great! I want to learn about fish and amphibians. They’re the animals I know least about. Is now okay with you, or should I go on with this for a while?”
At least he understood the pecking order here. Maybe I was in disgrace, but JJ wouldn’t know that, and I was still the owner’s son. “Why don’t we go ahead and get started? I’ll help you stack the cans you’ve labeled already.”
As we walked toward the amphibian area he said, “Mr. Landon said you knew practically everything there is to know about the store. I hope you don’t mind if I ask lots of questions.”
It took me a few seconds to recover from JJ’s first statement. Dad said something complimentary about me? And to someone else? Then I wondered why JJ was already so full of questions. “No problem. Are you planning to have a store one day yourself?”
He laughed, and it had a nice sound. “No, probably not. I want to work with animals. Maybe I’ll be a vet someday. That would be my dream job.”
“So why are you so interested in this store?”
“Oh, I’m interested in anything having to do with animals, and with people who love them. Your father seems like a real animal lover.”
This took me a little aback. “This is your first day, right? How do you know how my dad feels about animals?” We were standing at the tanks by now, but I wanted to hear what JJ’s answer would be, beyond the obvious; I mean, why would someone who didn’t like animals have a pet supply store, anyway?
“Oh, we had a great talk when I was here for my interview a few weeks ago. I know he likes black Labradors best, even though some other breeds are smarter. And that he doesn’t much like cats, which I think is too bad. It’s just that they’re different from dogs. People who like dogs often think cats are disloyal, but it’s only that they aren’t pack animals and don’t develop bonds in the same way dogs do. Dogs live by social hierarchy. Cats live by rules and routines. I guess your mom is allergic, huh?”
I wanted to dislike the guy. He was showing off by getting here early, he’d already figured out that my dad’s favorite dog was something other than what I thought it was, ’cause I’d assumed Dad liked the smarter dogs best, and he was giving me a lecture on animal behavior. Plus, he already knew something about my mom. Under normal circumstances, all this together would have more than wiped out how good I’d felt a few minutes ago when he’d passed on that compliment Dad had never seen fit to say directly to me, and I’d hate his guts. But he seemed so…I don’t know, there was something about him that seemed beyond calm, almost removed, like even though he knew all this stuff, he didn’t pretend it gave him some kind of edge. I would have had to talk myself into believing that he was trying to puff himself up even, let alone wanting to be on some kind of par with me. All I said was, “Yeah. She is. Listen, let’s get started here.”
I took him first to the schedule posted in the stockroom behind the tanks. “We don’t try to do all the tanks at once. Each tank has a number, and it corresponds to this chart.” I was about to go over what had been done last, but instead I asked, “Can you tell what we should be working on today?”
JJ took about five seconds to figure this out. “Number eleven today, right? Wait…eleven through fifteen.”
I nodded. Didn’t want to give him too much encouragement. “And can you tell what we need to do to them?” Ha. That will take a little more—
“Looks like we’re cleaning these, and then we replace the filters in tanks one through five.” He turned to face me. “Why is that? Why won’t we—”
“Fish tanks have beneficial bacteria in them that do stuff like remove ammonia and other toxins the filters don’t get all of. Some of this bacteria is in the filters. When we clean a tank, we replace about twenty percent of the water, which takes away some of the bacteria. So we wait to replace the filter—”
“…so you don’t deplete the environment of the bacteria! Of course. And do you replace only part of the water for the same reason?”
I let a beat or two go by. I don’t like being interrupted. “That, plus it’s a lot of stress on the fish to change their entire environment all at once. And if we want another reason, it’s so we don’t have to take the fish out of the tank to clean it.”
“Brilliant!” He beamed at me like it had been my idea. “Should the new water be warmed?”
I could tell it would be tough to keep this kid under control. I didn’t want him thinking he was so smart that he’d go off half-cocked and ruin something. Dad prided himself in doing a better job than any other place he knew of to maintain the fish tanks; it’s time-consuming work, and most places do the bare minimum. If JJ ruined something here, or killed fish, it would be my ass, not his. I said, “Let’s go one step at a time. And just so you know, the freshwater fish are less fussy about water temperature than the tropicals, but they all prefer as little change as possible.”
I cleaned tank eleven while he watched. I told him how important it was to avoid even a trace of soap, and how the cleaning tools we use are for glass. Acrylic tanks need different tools. At one point I asked him, “So, why this store and not a pet store? I mean, if it’s the animals that interest you.”
“This might sound strange, but you get to see more animals here. People don’t usually bring their own pets into a pet store, so the only animals I’d see would be the ones for sale. They’re often not in great health, and I can’t do anything about that yet.”
Good answers. I wondered if he had an answer for everything—it sure seemed like it so far—but I decided not to test things any further just yet.
We did tank twelve together, and JJ practically insisted on doing thirteen alone. It was nearly lunchtime, and I’d been thinking we’d break first. “You sure you wanna do that?” I asked him. “That’s an unlucky number for your first solo.”
He laughed. “Oh, I like the number thirteen. Maybe because so many other people don’t.”
I watched him like a hawk, and although I had to step in a couple of times, he did most everything exactly as I had. Partway through Dad showed up. He stood there a minute watching and then said, “Paul, you and JJ break for lunch after this one. And I need to talk to you in my office.”
I didn’t much like the tone of his voice. Had I done something wrong already? JJ and I finished up, and he didn’t need to be told that everything had to go back into the stockroom. I said, “Did you bring lunch?” He nodded. “There’s some picnic tables out back, if you want to eat outside.” He smiled at me and nodded again, and I headed toward the office.
Dad was alone in there, and he launched right in. “Paul, what do you think you’re doing, having JJ do a tank alone so soon? He could—”
“He got it, Dad. He was really sure of what he was doing, and he understood the process.”
Dad was opening his mouth, a scowl on his face, about to scold me some more, when JJ spoke up from behind me. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Landon. I shouldn’t have been so ambitious. It was my idea to do it on my own, not Paul’s. He tried to discourage me. If there’s a problem, it’s my fault.”
Dad stood there and blinked a few times. “Well. I guess we’ll know there’s a problem if the fish start going belly up.” He didn’t sound so fierce now, and for one eerie moment there it seemed almost like old times, with Chris talking Dad down off of whatever hill he’d climbed to throw stones at me. I snapped myself out of it by turning to look at JJ, confirming for myself that he wasn’t anything like Chris.
Feeling irritated and not knowing why, I said, “I thought you’d gone to lunch.”
“Oh, sorry. I thought Mr. Landon wanted to talk to both of us. I’ll go now.” And he did.
“Anything else?” I asked Dad, probably sounding a little belligerent.
Dad’s jaw worked for a second or two. “We’d better not lose any of those fish. I’d like you to spot Alice on register three so she can have lunch now. You can go when she gets back. And tell JJ not to do any tanks without you. He can go back to cat food while you eat.”
Dad’s lunch was already on his desk. He ate in the office where he could keep an eye on the registers and watch how the cashiers treated customers. On one hand, I was pissed that I had to wait for lunch. On the other, it was a nice day, and I wanted to eat outside, but I wasn’t sure I wanted JJ thinking of me as his best buddy, so I didn’t want to set a lunch hour precedent and eat with him.
I sent Alice, who was probably fifteen and at least twice that many pounds overweight, to have lunch. It was fairly busy and I didn’t pay a lot of attention to the time, but Alice returned in just under half an hour, right on time. JJ was with her. They were laughing like best friends. I gave JJ his orders and left.
Close call, I thought as I grabbed the lunch Mom had packed for me. I might have had to sit with both of them if Dad had taken the register, which he sometimes does. I chose a table and sat with my back to the door. I was mostly done with lunch when I saw two figures coming around the side of the building. Marty and Kevin.
“Hey, Landon!” Marty called in hushed tones. “They let you outside to eat? Aren’t they afraid you’ll make a break for it?” He and Kevin cackled.
Kevin stole one of my store-bought cookies and sat down across from me. Beside him, Marty lit a cigarette. Wishing I could bum one but knowing I’d be dead if Dad caught me, I pulled my food closer to my side of the table out of Kevin’s reach. “What are you guys up to today? Dragging old ladies across the wrong intersections?”
Marty smiled expansively. “It’s such a gorgeous day, we thought we’d go skinny-dipping at the woods end of Parson’s Lake. Wanna come?”
“You know I would. Gotta stay here though, and you know that, too.”
“Grumpy, isn’t he?” Kevin asked Marty.
Marty made a face. “He’s always like this at work, aren’t you, Paul? Hey, here’s a thought.” He pointed with his cigarette to the side of the building, toward the garden hose that we kept wrapped around an old truck wheel, mounted on the wall, for cleaning the rodent cages, used dog kennels and cat carriers, that sort of thing. “How about if we just squirt you with that for a few minutes? You could even strip first!”
I decided against any reply to that ridiculousness, but I was ready to make a run for it if Marty showed signs of being serious. He didn’t. We sat there a few more minutes trading barbs and generally saying nothing in particular, and then Marty, who was facing the building, looked up. His expression was weird, so I turned to look over my shoulder. It was JJ. He’d seen Marty, too, and had stopped in his tracks, eyes locked on him.
“What is it?” I called to him.
He stayed where he was, even though he had to raise his voice a little from that distance, and his eyes moved to me. “Your father wanted us to finish today’s tank cleaning.” And he waited.
In the back of my mind it occurred to me that he didn’t say anything like “Your dad sent me to get you” or “Your dad says lunchtime is over and to get back to work.”
“Be right there.” I watched him turn and head back inside, and when I was facing the remains of my lunch again I saw Marty’s gaze was still on the door JJ had gone through. “What’s with you?” I asked.
His eyes snapped to mine. “Nothin’. Just wondering if it might be time for a little mollification.” He sucked on his cig as he gave me this significant look.
I turned again to look at the doorway—stupid, since there was nobody there—and back to Marty again. I knew he was referring to Anthony the math nerd and the time we’d made him tell us he was queer. “You’re crazy. You think every guy who isn’t like you is automatically a homo.”
He flicked some ash and said, “Am I wrong about this one? You sure?” His voice told me he was sure of his own assessment. “And can you afford to make a mistake here?”
I knew what he meant, but I didn’t want to admit it. Even from here you could tell that JJ had a sweet face, and he wasn’t very big. Dressed right, he could pass for a girl. All I said was, “What’s the worst that can happen?”
Marty inhaled on the cig, waited, exhaled at me, and said, “You don’t wanna go and get painted with that brush, kid.” And then laughed insanely. “Get it? You could get painted with the pink brush if you get painted with his brush!” and he jabbed with his cigarette toward the door JJ had gone through. Brush. Dagger. I knew what Marty was referring to. But I was still angry with myself for letting him talk me into our little escapade into the red-light district. Time to stand up to him, at least a little.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re a real comic, Kaufman. I don’t give a fuck whether the kid’s a fag or not, and if you try painting me with any brush we’ll have us a real conversation.”
Marty raised an eyebrow. “Ooh, Kevin, did you hear that? Have I struck a nerve in our pet store boy?”
Kevin grinned at me like he didn’t take Marty quite as seriously as I did. “I don’t think we have to worry about Landon.” He turned toward Marty. “After all, wasn’t he the only one who did that hooker last spring? Seems to me you got some proving to do yourself.”
Marty shoved Kevin sideways, nearly off the seat, and Kevin laughed.
I stood up, deciding not to give this conversation any more weight than it deserved. “I gotta get back in or my old man will have a shit fit. See you guys later.”
Despite what I’d said to Marty? About not caring if JJ was a fag? I cared. I cared a lot. And I was a little shocked that it hadn’t occurred to me. Now I was pretty sure Marty was right.
That afternoon, JJ and I worked on the last two tanks together so Dad wouldn’t have any excuses to criticize, both of us talking as little as possible, and I held my hands carefully away from JJ’s. Once they touched and I jerked back without really meaning to. I know he noticed, ’cause he froze for a second or two.
I had to talk more while I showed him how to change the filters on tanks one through five, but he said practically nothing. He caught on to the process just as fast as ever, but the brightness was gone. I couldn’t say whether I missed his voice because the contrast with the morning was so obvious or because I’d started to like him. I had to watch that, though, didn’t I? Wouldn’t do to get painted.
That night I lay awake a long time. There were so many similarities between how I was feeling now and how I’d felt about torturing Anthony. I hadn’t done anything to JJ, and neither had Marty, but the list of things that were alike was pretty impressive, anyway.
I had a nasty dream that night about this hideous skin disease. Chris was in the dream, and he had it, and every time I got near him it felt like some of it would show up on me, but I could never see it on myself.
JJ was there ahead of me again on Tuesday, even though I was a little early myself. He was helping Dad, who was up on a stool, stack the heavier bags of dry dog food in the stockroom.
“Paul, help JJ finish this lot. Then I want you both to man register four. Show JJ how to open it up. He already knows how to make change. I want him to work directly with customers today.”
“Got it.” I was taller than JJ, so when Dad got off the stool I got onto it. JJ didn’t speak, and neither did I. After a few minutes of doing my best to make my part, which was harder than his, look easy, I felt like a stupid little kid; JJ didn’t look like he was trying to prove anything.
Register four was the one closest to Dad’s office. I took JJ through the opening routines, and it seemed to me that he was being real careful, in that cramped space where we both had to stand, not to touch me anyplace. It made me feel kind of guilty about the way I’d reacted yesterday when our hands touched, and it made me start to like him again.
Liking him lasted only about forty-five minutes. He was doing fine ringing things up and making change, and he was friendly with the customers without being inefficient. And then Mrs. Soper was there with that mutt of hers that looks like it’s part wheaten terrier and part Chihuahua, it’s so funny looking, and as usual it was yapping and jumping and generally ignoring anything she said to it.
“Lulu, please! Let Mommy get her wallet out so she can pay for the things she’s bought for you.”
“Lulu, hush. Don’t be so impatient.”
“Lulu, how many times do I have to tell you not to bark at everyone?”
It was always a challenge dealing with her, because even though Lulu paid no attention to her, Mrs. Soper paid all kinds of attention to Lulu and not enough to the business at hand. Plus she was probably in her sixties and did everything kind of slow, anyway. The two customers behind were getting irritated, and only one other register was open at the moment.
I had started to bag things, but Mrs. Soper still had items in her cart, so JJ couldn’t ring them up. I might have reached for some of them myself, but JJ was in my way, just staring at the dog. Before I could move around the counter and start pulling things out of the cart, JJ reached into a bag I’d just loaded and pulled out a red strap leash.
He asked, “Is this leash for Lulu?” When Mrs. Soper said it was, he walked around the counter to where Lulu was still dancing on two legs, scratching at the side of the counter with her front paws, yipping hysterically. “Is it okay with you if I try to calm her down?”
“Oh, anything you can do!”
JJ ran the hook end of the leash through the circle of the handle so it made a kind of slipknot. He never spoke to the dog or petted it or anything. He leaned over and slipped the loop over Lulu’s head. Then he released the other leash from the collar and handed it to Mrs. Soper, so the red one was the only one on Lulu. JJ positioned the loop just behind Lulu’s ears, stepped a little away from the counter with the leash hanging loose from his hand to her neck, and he called her, slapping his leg. She eyed him a few seconds and then went to him. He let her sniff his legs but didn’t touch her or speak to her, and then he moved his hand up along the leash until it was almost but not quite tight from Lulu’s neck to his hand.
They stood like that for several seconds, and I walked around the counter to Mrs. Soper, who was watching JJ intently. I said, “I’m going to ring the rest of this up, if that’s okay.”
She said nothing, so I took over for JJ. I glanced up toward Dad’s office, expecting that he’d be watching, and he was. But the other thing I’d expected—that he’d be disapproving of what JJ was doing and glad to see I’d taken initiative—wasn’t how it looked. He was watching JJ as intently as Mrs. Soper was. It won’t be long before Dad comes to his senses. I started ringing in the stuff I’d taken from the cart.
Meanwhile Lulu had got onto her hind legs and was beginning to paw at JJ’s knees. He stepped away and yanked once on the leash, gently but noticeably, and he said, “Hey,” really short and sharp. Lulu sat down at his feet. He waited, not looking at her. She jumped again, and again he jerked the leash and said, “Hey.”
I’d finished ringing things up by now, and although the customers behind were undoubtedly glad Lulu wasn’t making a fuss anymore, one of them was preparing to move to the other register, something Dad really hates to see, ’cause it means our customer service wasn’t what it should have been.
Trying to get Mrs. Soper’s attention so I could tell her the total, I saw her gaze turn to watch Dad, coming from his office. He was headed toward JJ, but he stopped at the end of my counter to watch.
Making an effort to keep from sounding annoyed, I said, “That’s fourteen-oh-seven, Mrs. Soper.”
“What? Oh, thank you, young man.” She handed me a twenty, and I had to get her attention again so I could give her the change. But then she just stood there, watching JJ, the cart smack in the way of the next customer. I leaned over and pushed it along a little, and Mrs. Soper got the hint.
By the time I’d rung up the next customer’s items, I had to get his attention, too; he was also watching the dog show. JJ had Lulu following him peacefully, not jumping, not yipping. He walked back and forth along the front of the store a few times, and when he headed back toward Mrs. Soper, several people applauded. JJ looked around, startled.
“Oh, young man!” Mrs. Soper oozed as JJ brought Lulu back to her. “You’ve worked a miracle!”
JJ, with Lulu sitting patiently at his feet, said, “Not really. It’s very simple, actually. Part of the trick here is to have the leash in a loop up as high on her neck as you can. See how it keeps her head held high?” He pulled the leash upward gently to demonstrate. “If you’ve ever been to a dog show, you’d see that they walk the dogs on leashes like this. It makes them look proud, and it keeps their head looking forward. It also gives you a lot of control in case she starts looking around at things she wants to bark at. All you have to do, at the very first sign of distraction, is jerk the leash gently sideways, and her attention will come forward again, where you want it to be.”
By now, I’d have thought it would have dawned on Dad that nothing was getting done in the store. Everyone was watching JJ and Lulu, even Alice at register two.
And JJ wasn’t done. “You need to remember, though, that a loop like this—which is essentially like using a choke chain—shouldn’t stay on her neck. You should use it like this only when you’re in situations where you need a lot of control. And never leave anything like this on her neck.”
“Yes, yes. I see. Thank you so much!”
Dad and JJ stood watching Mrs. Soper’s retreating back. She was already holding the leash wrong, and Lulu was back to her old tricks. Even so, Dad said, “JJ, that was remarkable. Where did you learn to do that?”
This really pissed me off. Here I’d done my best to try and keep things moving, to keep other customers from getting irritated and to keep up the cash flow, and it’s JJ who gets praised. JJ, who not only hadn’t hurried Mrs. Soper up any but who’d actually slowed everything down even more. Where was Dad’s appreciation for what I’d done?
JJ smiled and said, “It just comes of thinking like a dog when you need to. I’ll get back to the register now.”
So I stopped liking the guy again. The rest of our conversation was limited to business, even when there were no customers at our counter. During one lull, Dad came out of his office again.
“JJ, can you do that with other dogs?”
JJ shrugged. “Sure. The breed doesn’t matter, except that some dogs are more powerful than others. The kind of behavior you want to correct can make a difference, like whether it’s just distracted like Lulu or anxious and aggressive, and sometimes you have to be rougher with a dog. But once I get a dog to see me as the alpha, then—yes.”
“Could you come into my office for a minute? Paul can cover for you here.”
So all of a sudden I’m “covering” for JJ? I watched the door shut, fuming. When it opened again, several minutes and three customers later, there was no customer at my register. JJ just walked back and waited for me to step aside so he could take his place again. No comment, no explanation.
I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to think Dad had read him the riot act, but Dad had seemed more interested in dog training than customer service. Finally, leaning against the counter and as far from JJ as I could get, I asked, “What did he want?”
“Your father wants me to lead a dog behavioral clinic on Saturday mornings. We’ll start this weekend.”
What am I supposed to say to that? “Great. Do you wanna take over at the register while I take a piss?” I didn’t wait for his reply. He wouldn’t need me unless he had to void an entire order, or unless the receipt paper ran out. I almost hoped both of those things would happen while I stood in the bathroom, not really needing to do anything, watching the puny dribble leave my dick and fall into the water, half tempted to just lift a leg and let go. I’d just needed to get away from JJ. Away from my dad’s approval of him. I’ll bet Dad doesn’t know he’s gay. Wonder if I should tell him.
That night at the dinner table, I had to listen to Dad rave on and on about JJ to Mom. “Irene, it was uncanny. It was like he had lifted all that little dog’s worries right off her shoulders, and she had nothing else to yap about. She sat on the floor beside him, calm as you please, and waited for him to let her know what he wanted her to do. And when he walked her around, she trotted at his heel like she’d been raised just for that.”
Mom asked, “What happened when Mrs. Soper took her again?”
“Oh, she went back to bouncing and yapping.”
I couldn’t help saying, “So he didn’t cure Lulu. She’s still a yappy little dog.”
Dad waved his fork absentmindedly, gazing at nothing. “True. But I’ll bet if Mrs. Soper treated her like JJ did, things would change. He’d just need to teach her how to do that.”
Mom laughed. “So really, Andy, it isn’t dog training. It’s people training!”
Dad chuckled. “Maybe that’s it.” He was pretty quiet through the rest of the meal, thank goodness; no more raving about JJ the wonder boy. The Wunderkind. But he was thinking about him. You could tell.
The rest of that week, JJ and I spoke when necessary and not otherwise. So much for all the questions he had warned me he would ask. When he did speak I listened carefully—no, obsessively—to his tone, for condescension or superiority in it, in vain. There was one awkward day when we were both having lunch a little late, and he was alone at one table when I got outside. I sat at another empty table, my back to him. I felt almost mean. I didn’t enjoy my lunch very much, wishing he would go in, but when he left it wasn’t any better.