David Wallace - Broom of the System

“Look, by the way, do you mind if I tell Dad you have a phone?” Lenore said. “Dad is crazy about you.”

“All sorts of different truths in that statement.”

“He’s pinned all his hopes on you, he says.”

“Pins tend to smart, I’ve found,” LaVache said.

“At least you should tell him you call a phone a lymph node.”

“Well, gee, then I might as well call it a phone,” the Antichrist said sulkily.

They both looked at the athletic fields and the forests behind them. Long spears of shadow were moving across the breadth of the grass. Shadow-gaps sparkled with sprinkler-dew. Two very tiny figures emerged from the edge of the trees of the bird sanctuary, far away, and started walking across the wet fields toward the hill. One of the figures, the shorter one, wore a brown beret.

“Hey,” Lenore said quietly.

She saw the two figures stop. The taller one, whose hair looked red in the red sun between the gym-shadows, bent over and felt the wet grass with his hand. The two figures slipped off their shoes and socks — the taller one merely his shoes, because he wore no socks underneath — and continued walking. They got to the bottom of the hill.

“Well that’s Rick right there,” Lenore said to the Antichrist, pointing to the man in the beret. She waved. Rick looked up at her for a bit, his hand to his hat, confused, then finally smiled broadly and waved back. He said something to the other man, pointing at Lenore.

“Who’s that other guy?” asked LaVache. He tossed away his roach and struggled to get to his feet.

“I don’t think I know,” Lenore said. She stared at the taller man, who walked the hill well, one hand holding boat shoes, the other helping Rick Vigorous, who was having trouble, sliding back in his bare feet in the wet grass of the bottom of the steep hill. The taller man grinned at his efforts, and some of the last bits of fiery sunset over the gym hit his teeth, which shone red.

“Do I look all right?” Lenore said to LaVache.

“Nut,” LaVache said. “Help me up, please.”

Lenore helped her brother up. The two men got close to the curve of the top of the hill, where the grass became dry and brown. Rick no longer needed help. There were voices, back and forth. The Antichrist was having balance problems. The very last of the sun sucked itself down behind the gymnasium, to the west. A cool shadow filled up the field, then climbed the hill all the way to the Memorial. The shadow covered the four figures, as they came together, and they were gone.

/a/

“Perhaps I’ll try another crustless Hellman‘s-less ham sandwich, with you taking whatever steps might be possible to minimize the saltiness of the ham.”

“….”

“And a Canadian Club and distilled water.”

“Sure. How about Lenore? Is Lenore asleep?”

“Fnoof, fnoof fnoof.”

“So it would seem.”

“Sir, how about you? Would you like anything?”

“Ma‘am, while I take a minute to formulate a suitable answer to that, you could bring me a beer. I don’t need a glass.”

“All righty.”

“Thank you, miss.”

“….”

“Who the hell is that?”

“I think her name is Jennifer. She’s the Stonecipheco stewardess.”

“Hang me upside down if that’s not the beautifulest goddamn stewardess I ever saw. Would I like anything, she says.”

“Ahem. Lenore has given me to understand that Jennifer is married to the Stonecipheco pilot, in whose hands our lives at the moment happen to rest.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Would you care for some gum?”

“Not if I got beer coming. You sure chew a lot of gum, R.V.”

“I have ear trouble on planes. Normally I loathe gum.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Not to mention planes themselves.”

“Ho there, Lenore. You up?”

“Fnoof.”

“I so envy people who can sleep on planes, Andrew.”

“She sure is a nice sleeper. My wife, when she sleeps, sometimes her mouth hangs open. Sometimes a little bit of spit comes out of her mouth and gets on the pillow. I hate that.”

“Lenore is a lovely sleeper.”

“Look, R.V., does Lenore remember me or not? Like I said, I’m just positive it was her I met that night I met my wife. I was a little bit trashed, but still.”

“She hasn’t said anything to me. An appropriate context for discussing the issue didn’t arise, last night. She fell asleep almost immediately.”

“Those Howard Johnson’s beds are comfortable all right. Howard Johnson’s kicks ass. I appreciated the room, and the dinner, and the use of the razor. The Flange just about cleaned me out. I can’t believe I was too stupid to bring more money up with me.”

“Not a problem at all. Stonecipheco will absorb it. Consider it an advance.”

“Except the thing is, I’ve been thinkin’ about it… hey, thanks, looks great. The beer, too. Heh-heh.”

“….”

“Thank you, miss. I believe that will be all for now.”

“Just ring if you want anything.”

“Thank you.”

“Just ring, she says. She’s a tease, ain’t she? Lord, though, look at that. That’s a first-rate pooper, under that skirt.”

“Crusts, again. The girl seems incapable of removing crusts.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Please go on with what you were saying.”

“Well, I was thinkin’ about the night I think I met Lenore, the night I met Melinda-Sue, and what happened was me and this other guy, who turned out later on to be a real loser, we went over to Mount Holyoke, and kind of barged on into these girls’ rooms, for a kind of fraternity thing. I don’t quite remember what.”

“….”

“And I remember I think Lenore got pissed off. She was real young and I don’t think she knew the whole story. I remember she threw a shoe at the guy I was with.”

“A shoe?”

“Yup. And she told Melinda-Sue she had ugly feet.”

“Shoes and feet, again.”

“Yup. So I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to act, if I should just pretend like I don’t know her, either, or what. I can’t tell if she’s still pissed off after all these years or not.”

“Real, sustained anger in Lenore is quite rare, I’ve found. Embarrassment, though, is not. I would be willing to bet that Lenore is simply embarrassed. When she’s embarrassed about something, she tends to pretend it doesn’t exist.”

“You think that’s why she sort of acts like she don’t remember me, from that night, or Melinda-Sue?”

“It’s very possible.”

“You say she works at Frequent and Vigorous too? So I’ll be workin’ with her?”

“Not directly. As of before we left, she answered telephones, at the Frequent and Vigorous switchboard, in the lobby, downstairs. But on this trip I’ve had a bit of an inspiration, I think.”

“An inspiration?”

“Yes. I think I’ve come to see that the switchboard is not a full-time place for a woman of Lenore’s capacities. She is chafing, I’m almost certain.”

“Chafing?”

“Yes. I’ve come to see that it all adds up. The context is right. Lenore is chafing. She likes stories. To the extent that she understands herself, it’s as having something like a literary sensibility. And you and I, here most significantly I, will at least for a while be occupied with the Stonecipheco project account. The crux is that I plan to put Lenore on my personal staff, part-time, as a reader.”

“A reader?”

“Yes, of pieces submitted to the high-quality literary review of which I am editor, the Frequent Review. She can weed out the more obviously pathetic or inappropriate submissions, and save me valuable weeding-time, which you and I can spend on the Corfu project.”