David Halliday - The Hole

Terry did not respond and continued to fill his mouth with corn flakes.

“I like Hank,” Mary continued, lighting up a cigarette.

“I thought you’d quit.” Terry’s words came out muffled.

Mary looked at the cigarette in despair. “I forgot.”

“You forget a lot of things,” Terry muttered.

Mary ignored her son’s remark, tightening her housecoat. She filled the sink with hot water and dish detergent and began to do the dishes.

“Someday I’m going to get an automatic dishwasher.”

“Why is he always talking about dead people?”

“What do you mean?”

“Last night he came out here to get a snack and I had to listen to all this shit about Al Jolson. Some dead guy who sang in the twenties. Like he expects me to go out and buy all this guy’s CDs. Who the hell is Al Jolson?”

“Before your time,” Mary said.

“And before your time too, Mom,” Terry said with a laugh.

“Thank you for that.”

“Jolson made this movie, The Jazz Singer. It was one of the first sound pictures.”

“You see,” Mary said, cleaning out the sink and placing the washcloth to one side. She dried her hands, took the cigarette out of her mouth, and tapped its ashes into the sink. “You can learn something new every day.”

“He sang this song ‘Mammy’ for me,” Terry said, shaking his head.

“What’s wrong with that guy?”

Mary shook with laughter. “He actually sang that song?”

“On one knee,” Terry added, puzzled that this gesture would bring such happiness to his mother. “I think he’s a pedophile.”

“Oh,” Mary sighed wiping the tears from her eyes, “I needed that.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? I think he’s a pedophile.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t even spell the word.”

“Why would he go down on his knees in front of me?” Terry hated it when his mother didn’t take him seriously.

“That was part of his act, Jolson’s act,” Mary explained, a cloud of smoke slipping between her teeth. “Like Michael Jackson’s moonwalk.” Terry was puzzled. He was sure his mom had gone off the deep end.

“Who the hell is Michael Jackson?”

Mary turned away, thinking about the night before. It had been a long time since she had been with a man. She’d been nervous. She wondered if it showed. She hoped she could make it up to Hank in the future although she had noticed he didn’t seem disappointed. And then there had been the terrible dream she had had about lawn bowling. She was watching the American national championship in Los Angeles when one of the competitors, Edward McGee, mistaking her head for a ball, had thrown her across the lawn, with the effect that she had lacerations on her chin and a chipped tooth. She’d woken up laughing and then had been scared out of her mind when she saw Hank’s face above hers staring down at her.

“Do you think that you could turn on the radio the next time you have a guest over?” Terry suggested.

“You were listening to us?”

“Not by choice. Holy cow, who wants to listen to his mother and her lover talking about the lumber industry? Who cares that there was an increase in the production of species formerly little used or neglected?” Mary was silent for a moment, wondering if Terry had heard everything that had been said last evening.

“Hank asked about your father,” Mary said.

Terry turned and looked at his mother. “What did you tell him?” Mary shrugged. She finished the cup of coffee on the table. The coffee was cold. She dropped her cigarette in the cup.

“I told him the truth.”

Terry pushed his cereal bowl into the middle of the table.

“Why do you have to talk about Dad?”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Does that guy ever stop talking?”

Mary shook her head.

“Tell him to stop asking me so many questions.”

“Okay.” Mary smiled. “I’ll tell him.”

“I never thought I’d see my mother dating a giant.” Mary broke out laughing. She stepped up behind her son, hugged him, and laughed some more.

Hank leaned over the counter and looked at the various cameras. A slightly overweight teenage girl dressed in a modest blouse and skirt stepped up opposite him.

“Can I help you?” she asked. The braces that sparkled in her smile slurred her speech. Hank looked down and grinned mischievously.

“Am I speaking to the owner?” he asked, keeping his eyes riveted to the girl’s.

The girl blushed, then giggled. Was that supposed to be a joke?

“No, I’m not the owner. Mr. Leblanc is out of the shop right now but I’m sure I could help you.” Why does Mr. Leblanc always pick the worst time to leave? I think he does it on purpose.

Hank liked the girl. There was an openness and lighthearted assertive-ness that was appealing. How old was she? Sixteen maybe. She was not like his daughter who had long ago left home complaining that life there was too dull.

“What’s your name, young lady?”

“Adelle,” the girl replied, staring across the counter at the huge figure.

Look at the size of his hands! Gives me the creeps. It’s like he’s a different species. I hate it when middle-aged men think they are being charming. She wished that Mr. Leblanc would come back soon. She didn’t like being in the shop alone. A girl in one of the dress shops at the Cloverdale Mall had been abducted the previous summer. It had been midday and there were other customers in the shop. No one had noticed her disappearance. We had to go to a special Mass to pray for her safe return. Her parents were there. Her father cried like a baby. It was so sweet.

“Are you in high school?”

“Yes,” Adelle replied. Does he think I chose this as a career? She wondered if she should be giving out information to a stranger. Perhaps she should excuse herself for a moment and phone the police. What would I say? That a customer is making me feel queasy?

“I noticed your uniform.” Hank smiled, his eyes running over the length of her blouse and skirt. He’d sent his own daughter to a Catholic school in the middle of the city. She revolted against the uniform. There were constant calls from the nuns that his daughter was wearing her skirts too high. Adelle’s skirt was rather short. He wondered what Mr.

Leblanc thought of that. Bastard probably can’t keep his eyes off her.

“Oh.” Adelle giggled. “I go to St. Joseph’s.” I shouldn’t have said that.

What if he starts to hang around the school? How would I explain that to the nuns?

“That’s a Catholic girls’ school,” Hank said, his eyes dilating.

Adelle nodded. He’s got that same goofy look that Mr. Leblanc has sometimes. Men are such slimeballs.

Hank returned to his appraisal of the cameras on display.

Adelle sighed. I hope he buys something soon. I’ve got to meet the gang.

Hank glanced at her with a puzzled expression. She wants to meet her friends.

Adelle held her breath and prayed that he wouldn’t ask what the sigh had meant. His eyes lowered to the glass counter. Adelle looked up at the ceiling. Make him go away!

“I’m looking for a particular kind of camera,” he said.

“Well, we have lots of cameras to choose from.” Adelle gestured to the contents of the shop. Mr. Leblanc will kill me if I lose this sale. But what the hell do I know about cameras?

Hank stood up again and looked down at the girl. Adelle looked up at him sheepishly. She’s afraid of me. The thought pleased him.

I hate it when middle-aged men think they are being intimidating.

He continued, “This was a camera tested at Aberdeen Proving Ground in Maryland by the US Military. It takes pictures at one-hundred-mil-lionth of a second.”