Chapter seven
At Barchester Prep in Bristol, Connecticut, Headmaster Granston stopped by John McAllister’s office to see why the math teacher hadn’t turned in his third-quarter grades. He knocked on the door, and when a response wasn’t forthcoming, he turned the knob.
“McAllister, are you there?” asked the headmaster.
Seeing Billy Rawson giving John McAllister a blow job produced an “Oh my God” from Granston followed by an “Oh shit!” from McAllister; Rawson didn’t say a word.
The next thing Billy knew, he was sitting in the headmaster’s office; Granston stood at a window watching clouds change shape.
“Tell me, Rawson, when did this thing with you and McAllister start?”
“Right before third-quarter exams. I was having trouble with stuff that was going to be on the test, so he told me to come to his office after school for help.”
“And what happened when you got there?”
“Nothing. We went over some problems, and he told me to come back the next day.”
“And then what happened?”
“I went back like he said.”
“And what happened when you went back?”
“He gave me a practice test.”
“Is that all that happened?”
“He came over and checked my work.”
“Is that all he did?”
“He stood really close and leaned against me.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything; I liked it.”
An hour later, Billy walked into his dorm room. His roommate, Andy Kessler, was lying on the top bunk reading Penthouse.
“I’m withdrawing from school,” said Billy.
Andy closed the magazine.
“Great! Now I can have the bottom bunk,” responded Kessler.
He jumped down from the upper.
“Not that I give a shit, but why are you leaving?”
Billy came out with an answer Andy didn’t want to hear.
“You fuckin’ prick licker. Everybody’s gonna think I’m a faggot too. Sucking that shitbag McAllister’s cock!”
“He reminded me of my dad,” said Billy.
“Your dad must be some piece of work.”
“You can see for yourself; my mother’s sending him to pick me up.”
The next day, Tania and the rest of the servers were sitting at table one writing their specials cards. Ellen came by; she was eating a piece of ricotta cheesecake. In between mouthfuls, she made an announcement.
“Jack won’t be around for a while; he’s driving out east to pick up his kid.”
“Oh no! Who’s gonna get wasted and fuck up our orders?” responded one of the servers. “Maybe Ellen can take over the job. Anybody got any coke? And I don’t mean a cola.”
Tania lowered her head and didn’t laugh with the others. Ellen licked her fork and continued talking.
“Jack wants someone to water the plants in the dining room while he’s gone. Any volunteers?”
Silence followed.
“I guess that means no,” said Ellen.
“I’ll do it,” said Tania.
The following day, Tania took the plants outside and plucked off their dead leaves. She washed a year’s worth of dust off a rubber plant, took clippings from a leggy coleus, and cut back an ailing poinsettia. She scrubbed caked-on dirt off saucers and cleaned the outside of each pot. She set up a nursery for the cuttings and an infirmary for plants that needed intensive care.
Jack helped Billy pack his things into his mother’s Acura. When father and son pulled away from the dorm, they passed John McAllister loading the contents of his office into the back of a station wagon. McAllister’s wife, Mitzi, was behind the wheel, tapping her fingertips on the side of the car. Billy held the sight of his former lover in the Acura’s side-view mirror. Headmaster Granston watched both vehicles from a corner window in his office. His phone rang, and he answered the caller.
“Yes, William, I understand you and the board are concerned about the rumors, but they’re just rumors. The truth is McAllister couldn’t finish the term for health reasons, and the boy’s going through some sort of emotional crisis, so his family’s taking him home to get help.”
Billy and Jack headed to Interstate 84 West. Right after he merged on to I-80 toward Cleveland, Jack broke the silence.
“So, are you light in the loafers?”
“What?”
“A pansy. Do you like guys?”
“I’m not sure.”
“When I was your age, all I wanted was pussy . . . and Italian women with armpit hair.”
Billy turned toward the passenger door and closed his eyes. Jack kept on talking; Billy fell asleep.
“Silvana Mangano . . . first woman I ever saw with hair under her arms. She was wearing a black slip. I’d seen girls wearing slips in the Sears catalog, but they didn’t look like Silvana. Bitter Rice was the name of the picture. They showed it at the Walker . . . part of an Italian film festival. I went home and spanked the monkey so hard my dick nearly fell off.”
Jack got the nods near Toledo. He pulled into a rest area parking place and turned off the car. He closed his eyes and chased Silvana through the rice fields of the Po Valley.
The next day, they made it to I-90, and Billy called his mother as soon as they passed the MINNESOTA WELCOMES YOU sign. At eight in the evening, Kit O’Meara Rawson began standing watch at her front window. An hour and fifteen minutes, five cigarettes, and three glasses of Chablis later, her Acura pulled up to the curb.
At the Good Karma Cafe, Tania gave the plants a quick spritz and punched out. She exited out the front door as Jack came in the back. He poured himself a drink from the bar and opened up the safe in his office. Jack pulled out the coke he was supposed to be selling and bought some from himself on credit.
A few blocks away, Tania sat on her bed writing affirmations; she said each word aloud as she wrote it.
“Jack Rawson rips off my clothes and makes love to me. Jack Rawson rips off my clothes and makes love to me.”
The telephone rang; she answered it.
“Yes, I know who this is,” said Tania.
“The plants look great! Thanks for taking care of them,” said Jack. “Uh . . . I can understand how you might not want to see me, but I thought maybe . . .”
Tania listened to the rest of the sentence.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
Then she hung up.
Jack put the receiver in its cradle on his desk and emptied a saucer of coke onto a sheet of paper. He folded the paper into a packet, put the packet in his pocket, and licked the plate. He turned out the lights at the cafe and locked the back door.
Tania walked into her bathroom and turned on the shower. She shaved her legs and armpits. She groomed her pubic area and removed all unwanted hairs from her upper lip. She stepped into a black Lycra leotard, put her arms through its spaghetti straps, and threw on a gray-striped, light cotton coverall.
By now, Jack was snoring in his apartment. His doorbell rang; he woke up and pushed a buzzer. Tania came up the stairs.
“What took you so long?” asked Jack.
She stood on the threshold.
‘“I shaved my legs and armpits,” said Tania.
“Too bad,” said Jack.
“I looked like an extra in an Italian movie.”
“I like Italian movies,” said Jack.
“So do I. Did you ever see Bitter Rice? It was just at the Uptown . . . part of an Italian film festival.”
Tania came inside.
“Would you like to rip off my clothes?” she asked.
“I was just thinking about doing that,” said Jack.
He picked up Tania; her legs wrapped around him. He carried her to his bed and plopped her down. Tania lay motionless. Jack snatched at her clothing.
“I don’t know the best way to do this,” he said.
“Try putting one hand up here and the other one down there,” said Tania.
Jack grabbed the coverall at the bust and crotch with his baseball-mitt hands. He gave a pull; buttons popped. He pulled harder; the material ripped. He yanked the fabric until it was in pieces. He stopped when he saw the spaghetti straps of Tania’s black Lycra leotard.
Oh, Silvana, thought Jack.
They rolled around and put their hands places they hadn’t seen or touched before. Tania grabbed at his shiny red briefs and searched for Jack’s penis.
It’s as soft as a mozzarella stick, thought Tania.
“Be careful; this is my best underwear,” said Jack.
I was hoping for a nice hard manchego.
“How ’bout we take a break and do a little coke?” asked Jack.
He poured some powder onto the glass of a framed, close-up photograph of himself from the seventies. He pushed the coke into a line that ran from the tip of his photo’s nose to the middle of its forehead. He handed a rolled-up dollar bill to Tania.
“You probably won’t need very much,” said Jack.
Tania took a toot; her nose bled. She pinched her nostrils and silently counted to two hundred.
“I think I’ve had enough,” said Tania.
Jack snorted the rest, and Tania stood up.
“Can I have a glass of water?”
Jack got her one. She took a sip and swallowed it.
“Thanks.”
She took another, held the water in her mouth, and sprayed it on Jack’s chest. Then she licked the liquid off his body.
The edges of the sky turned orange, and Jack’s dick never got hard. Tania heard the sound of a garbage truck emptying a dumpster; Jack got out of bed and went into the bathroom. He took a piss and turned on the shower. Tania opened the door and stepped into the tub. She knelt down and put his penis in her mouth.
“No time for that,” said Jack.
He looked down at Tania; her lips still encircled his dick.
“I’ve got a lot of irons in the fire; it’s hard for me to relax.”
He loaned her a pair of 3XL sweatpants, and Tania walked home.
Once inside her apartment, Tania took off the sweatpants and inserted a piece of paper into her portable Smith Corona. She spoke aloud as she typed.
“I want to lie naked with your head resting on my bare belly while I read to you from The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe.”
Tania pulled the paper out of the typewriter and signed her name. She put the letter and the sweatpants in a mailer and raced over to the Speedy Messenger Service.
Jack rolled into the cafe around 11:30 a.m.; he was singing.
“I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy,
A Yankee Doodle, do or die”
He hummed the next verse and ordered a double stack of buckwheat pancakes, three eggs over easy, and hash brown potatoes with melted cheddar cheese.
“I’ve got a Yankee Doodle sweetheart,
She’s my Yankee Doodle joy”
Jack sat at the desk in his office drowning the cakes with syrup when Ellen brought in a package. He opened the mailer and took out the sweatpants. Jack forked a wedge of flapjacks and put it in his mouth. He smacked his lips and opened the envelope. He read Tania’s note. Jack closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair, and imagined what she proposed. He grinned and felt a quiver in his pants. Ellen returned.
“The liquor guy’s here. He says he can’t unload the order cuz you haven’t paid your last bill.”
Jack pulled a checkbook out of a desk drawer.
“He said he won’t take a check.”
“Why not?”
“Because the last one you wrote him bounced. Oh yeah, that guy Ray is here.”
