A Semester in the Life of a Garbage Bag Page 12

  Sean stayed on as a spectator, though, and soon Raymond came by, but fortunately, Howard was too involved in the game to growl at him.

  Raymond was already in a bad mood. “Did you see Eckerman over there? He’s making a speech all about how everything is under control thanks to the Danny Eckerman evacuation plan! How come you can never find a helium balloon when you really need one?”

  Sean did not reply. He was staring across the lawn at a sight so unbelievably terrible that all he could manage to say was, “Raymond — look!”

  Raymond followed Sean’s gaze. There, not too far from the spot where a frantic Q. David Hyatt was tearing his hair over SACGEN’s well-being, stood Ashley Bach and Steve Semenski, holding an intimate conversation, obviously totally absorbed in one another.

  Raymond turned beseeching eyes to the sky. “That’s right. We were overdue for another devastating strike against Jardine. This is just what the doctor ordered. Sure. Give her to Cementhead. Jardine doesn’t care. Young love is a wonderful thing.” He turned to Sean. “Delancey, how did this happen?”

  “How did what happen?” asked Randy. He spotted the object of their scrutiny. “Oh, yeah. Steve and that new girl, the one you guys always hang out with. The whole school’s buzzing about it.”

  “But he didn’t even know her,” offered Sean weakly.

  Randy looked confused. “Why is it such a mystery to you, Sean? It was your sister who introduced them. Just today.”

  Sean choked. There it was, the revenge of Nicolette Delancey. She had pledged to “get him,” and she had devised the one plan guaranteed to wipe him out. She had carefully considered all the options, and instead of being merciful and just running him over with the family car, she had set up Ashley and Steve Cementhead!

  “Steve’s a lucky guy,” Randy continued, shaking his head. “She’s really something. They’re going out Friday night.”

  “This is all over the school, and Jardine is the last to know!” Raymond lamented. “They even publicize what night they’re going out!”

  Randy laughed. “It’s not that much of a top story. I just know that Steve’s going with his family to Saratoga on Saturday, so when I heard they had a date, I figured it had to be Friday.”

  Raymond turned on Sean. “Jardine is holding you personally responsible for this, Delancey! How could you let your sister do such a thing?”

  “Well, she didn’t exactly consult me on it, did she?” Sean cried irritably.

  At that point, the students began to file back into the school. Sean could see Ashley and Steve holding hands as they headed for the door.

  “There’s no way Jardine is going back to class after a blow like this,” Raymond muttered darkly as he followed Sean inside. “This is the least cool thing that could possibly have happened. Think about it. A totally terrific thing is about to happen to Cementhead. Cementhead! The man who surfs on a cafeteria tray! The man who wears muscle armor for Halloween! The man who, when they were giving out luck, cut the line and went twice so there was none left for Jardine!”

  “Come on, Raymond. Don’t be a baby. How can you get mad at Steve for doing exactly what any other guy would do in his place?” Sean’s face twisted. “Even if he was born with a horseshoe up his diaper — a great big twenty-four karat gold horseshoe!” He reared his foot back to kick the nearest locker, but stopped short. Where did he get off being this upset over a girl? He was Sean Delancey, a popular guy, star of the basketball team, a regular at Howard’s poker game. And Steve was a dose friend, too. Raymond had planted these anti-Steve sentiments in Sean’s mind, but here was where it ended. He should be happy that a friend of his was getting a fantastic girl like Ashley. There was nothing to be upset about. So why did he feel like the world had just ended?

  He sighed. Forget class. There was no sense getting an education now. He would tell Raymond to get lost, and find a nice quiet place to do his mourning. Then he would go home and kill Nikki. He looked up to see Ashley bearing down on them, her face aglow.

  “Here you are! I’ve been looking all over for you! I’ve got the most wonderful news in the world! You’ll be so happy —”

  “We’ve got wonderful news, too!” Sean suddenly heard himself cry out. He paused, having a vision of the triumphant Steve brandishing Karen Whitehead’s stolen underwear. Steve, the winner — and beside him, Sean, the guy who was there, but that’s all. Sorry, Steve. Not this time. “This is such great news, we just have to go first!” He caught a confused look from Raymond, and forged ahead. “Ashley, we’ve finally convinced Mr. Gunhold to let you come into the city and see him — on Friday night.”

  Ashley smiled even wider. “That’s marvelous! That’s fabulous! That’s — Friday night?” She looked stricken. “I can’t go Friday night! I’ve got plans! Couldn’t we make it Saturday?”

  “Oh, Ashley, no,” said Sean in great concern. “Raymond and I have been pestering Mr. Gunhold about this for so long. If we don’t turn up with you on Friday night, it’s all over for our project.”

  Ashley was the picture of despair. “But — but — oh — okay, I’ll come with you on Friday. It’s really a bad night for me, but if it’s the only time Mr. Gunhold’ll see me —”

  A slow smile was taking root on Raymond’s face, but he covered it up. “Oh, it is. The only time. Friday or never.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Aren’t poets the darndest people?”

  “Well, then, I guess I’m going with you guys,” she sighed. “Thanks for arranging it for me. I’m sorry I’m not happier, but — well, anyway.”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Raymond, remembering. “What was your good news?”

  Ashley sighed yet again. “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.”

  ***

  The scene that followed was positively eerie. In total silence, Raymond and Sean got their jackets, left the school and walked to the nearby DeWitt Park.

  Raymond reached into his pocket, produced a stale peanut, and listlessly beaned a squirrel. The animal retreated a couple of yards, then stopped, and made a remarkably Jardine-like gesture, pointing its little paws skyward.

  Finally, Raymond spoke. “I just want you to know, Delancey, that I’ve never been so proud of you as I am right now.”

  Sean shook his head. “How could I have been so stupid?”

  “That’s easy. Sheer jealousy. You couldn’t stand by and let Cementhead have Ashley. No fancy explanations. No excuses. We’re worms, but let it never be said that we won’t admit it.”

  “But Gavin Gunhold is dead,” Sean said quietly.

  “That’s the beauty of it. You saw a plan of attack, and even though there were a lot of sticky details to work out, you went right ahead. It brought tears to my eyes.”

  Sean’s face was pale. “The fact that the guy is dead qualifies as a lot more than sticky details, Raymond.”

  “That made it even more beautiful. If you ever run for President, I’ll tell you right now, you’ve got Jardine’s vote.”

  “I can’t believe I did it,” Sean lamented. “Raymond, if they like each other, throwing a monkey wrench into Friday night isn’t going to do anything. They’ll just go out the next night, or the night after that.”

  “But Mr. and Mrs. Cementhead are taking their little chip off the old block to Saratoga, remember? Chances are they won’t be able to have their date until next weekend. Who knows what could happen between now and then? Cementhead could decide he doesn’t like her. He’s stupid enough. Or she might start to fall madly in love with some other guy. Maybe even you, Delancey, or — dare we say it? — Jardine.”

  “I know what she’s not going to do,” said Sean sadly. “She’s not going to meet Gavin Gunhold.”

  Raymond shrugged. “Maybe she is. We can dress up some guy, take her someplace dark, and blow it by her fast.”

  Sean shook his head. “No way, Raymond. Ashley may not be good at school, but she’s got more common sense than the two of us put together. If we dress up somebody like Howard in glasses and a fake bear
d, she’ll see through it in a minute.”

  Raymond nodded. “Especially when he asks if she’s got any toothpicks.”

  “Seriously! And then not only will we lose her to Steve, but she’ll also never talk to us again. And I think Ashley’s a pretty good friend of ours by this point. She bailed us out on the party, and forgave me when I set her up with that Entwistle guy, and now she’s giving up her date just because she thinks she’s being helpful on the poetry assignment. Raymond, I enjoy her company. I like watching her count calories. I like sneaking into Miami Beach early every day to avoid her health food. I like Ashley!”

  Raymond looked surprised. “Good point, Delancey. I like her, too.” His face grew animated. “So we have to do right by her. We have to come up with a Gavin Gunhold so perfect that she’ll never suspect we’re snowing her. Now, let’s see — what would Gav be like today if that trolley car hadn’t offed him?”

  “The world’s oldest gas jockey,” said Sean irritably.

  “That’s right! He was born in 1899. That would make him — let’s see — eighty-eight.” An enormous grin spread all across his face. “Eighty-eight! Yeah!”

  “What are you beaming about?” Sean asked suspiciously. “What are you thinking?”

  “Who do we know who’s eighty-eight, bored, needs something to do, and would really appreciate a little change of pace?”

  Sean leaped to his feet. “Oh, no, you don’t! Not Gramp! No way!”

  “But Delancey, he’s perfect!”

  “No, Raymond! No chance!”

  “But —”

  “Forget it! End of story!”

  Eight

  The first frost of the year had come the very night Mr. Delancey had installed his Stead-E-Rain sprinkler system, but the technological marvel didn’t seem to notice. According to Stead-E-Rain, the temperature was hovering in and around one hundred fifteen degrees Fahrenheit, and the town of DeWitt was experiencing a Sahara desert drought.

  For this reason, all sprinkler valves had been going full blast for almost a week now. The lawn had been converted to semiswamp, and the bushes were wilting. One thing Mr. Delancey had neglected to ask the people from Stead-E-Rain was how the system could be deactivated. There was no on/off switch, and when Sean tried to yank the control system out of the wall, he received a jarring electric shock. Strangely, there had been no answer at the Stead-E-Rain offices for several days now.

  “Don’t blame me,” was Mr. Delancey’s statement.

  A seepage problem was beginning in several parts of the house. In the TV room, the sound of water dripping into buckets formed the background for exclusive Weather Channel footage of National Guard troops vainly trying to dig Denver out of a mountain of snow. Gramp watched smugly, loving every minute of it, drinking a glass of prune juice and smoking a Scrulnick’s. With effort, he pulled his eyes from the set and regarded Raymond and Sean.

  “It sounds to me like you kids have been pulling some stuff here.”

  Raymond had just recounted a reasonably accurate summary of the Gavin Gunhold affair, leading up to the need for a bogus poet on Friday night. At Sean’s request, Raymond had left out any mention of Steve Semenski, and described Ashley merely as a doubter who needed convincing.

  Sean flushed. “We promised up and down that Gavin Gunhold had tons of poetry, Gramp, and it turned out that he had only the one. So we had to write the poems.”

  “Now this Ashley girl is getting on our case to meet you — uh — him,” Raymond added. “So if we can’t produce our poet, it’ll look like something’s not kosher, and there’s a chance we’ll get found out. Then Kerr’ll flunk us for sure.”

  Gramp leaned back and took a long puff of his Scrulnick’s. “Well, I want you to know that I think this is just great.”

  “You do?” Sean asked in amazement.

  “Of course!” The old man put an arm around each boy. “This is what getting an education is really about. Being alive! Feeling the blood pumping through those arteries! Having your back up against the wall every now and then!”

  “So you’ll do it?” Sean prompted.

  “Well, I’ll have to check my social calendar,” said Gramp sarcastically. “After all, I am in Long Island, the excitement capital of the world.”

  Raymond grinned. “This is fantastic! Thanks a lot, Gramp!” From his pocket he produced a crumpled dollar bill and held it out to the old man. “You were right. Denver was first. I could have sworn it was going to be Cincinnati.”

  Gramp motioned for him to put his money away. “Double or nothing northern Texas is next.”

  “Northern Texas? No way!”

  “Don’t be so sure, Jardine. Picture the national weather map …”

  ***

  As Sean was on his way to English class the next morning, Steve Semenski approached him and begged for a moment of his time. Steve’s normally happy, devil-may-care expression seemed to be missing that day. In fact, if his complexion had been any paler, it would have matched his light green CLUB MED muscle shirt.

  “The part that freaks me out is the lame excuse she gave!” Steve exclaimed, after telling Sean with wonder in his eyes that Ashley had broken their date. “She said she was going to New York for English class to meet a poet! Can you believe it? Isn’t that the lamest excuse you’ve ever heard in your life?”

  Sean swallowed hard. It was wrong to keep Ashley from Steve when they were both so drawn to one another. Where was his respect for friendship? What about the secret society they had once pledged to be faithful to? Steve was a good friend, too, never pointing out that Sean was the least adventurous of the group’s five members. It still bothered Sean that he was the only one out of the five who had never had the guts to steal Karen Whitehead’s underwear. Even now, as a varsity athlete, he felt vaguely uncomfortable talking with Steve, for some reason expecting him to bring it up.

  “Well, Steve, maybe she feels funny on account of her boyfriend, Tank,” he mumbled, blushing.

  Steve thought it over. “I don’t know. Maybe it was because of Tank —”

  Raymond approached them. “Who’s Tank?”

  “You know Tank,” Sean said meaningfully. “Ashley’s boyfriend.”

  “But Ashley doesn’t — oh, Tank!” To Steve he said, “He’s a boxer, you know.”

  Steve looked confused. “Sean said he was a wrestler.”

  “Oh, that Tank!” exclaimed Raymond. “Right. Big guy. Mean.”

  “I was going to show the chick a real class time, too,” Steve lamented. “You know. A movie, some chow, and then a cruise in the Stevemobile.”

  “You mean that ’72 Catalina you drive?” Raymond slapped his forehead. “Ashley ought to have her head examined for blowing off this date!”

  “I put wide tires on that car. Wide tires! It has a four-forty engine and a four-barrel carburetor!”

  “And imitation fur dice hanging from the rearview mirror!” Raymond added in disbelief.

  Later, after Steve had gone off, still shaking his head, Raymond awarded Sean a hearty slap on the shoulder. “Tank! I love it!”

  “Shut up, Raymond,” snapped Sean. “I’m not proud of this.”

  ***

  So the wide tires of the Stevemobile cruised with only the driver on Friday night as Ashley rode into New York on the Long Island Railroad with Raymond and Sean. Their destination: The Euripides Café, a dilapidated basement bistro in Greenwich Village, soon to be condemned by the Board of Health, but a favorite hangout of poets, especially expatriate Canadians. There Gramp would be waiting for them, ready to play Gavin Gunhold. Gramp had left on an earlier train, so delighted by the prospect of secret scheming that he had been chain-smoking Scrulnick’s all afternoon.

  The café was dark, damp, and smoky as Raymond and Sean led Ashley, who was dressed as though she were about to meet the governor, down the stairs and through the battered door. The all-classical jukebox was playing quiet chamber music so as not to drown out the strange tip-tapping noise that was the trademar
k of the Euripides. The building commissioner claimed the unexplained sound, which came from all four walls and the ceiling, was just bad plumbing, but the management insisted that the café was home to the largest rat in New York City.

  Poet Gavin Gunhold was already in a fight with the management and a few patrons when Raymond, Sean, and Ashley walked in.

  “The guests are complaining about his cigars,” the manager informed Sean.

  “Don’t you have a smoking section?” Raymond asked.

  “He’s in it! It’s the smokers who are complaining! The non-smokers are lucky. They’re on the other side of the room.”

  “You ignoramus!” Gramp accused the manager. “These are the finest cigars in the world!”

  “They smell like the morning after the night the outdoor toilet burned down,” exclaimed a woman sitting at the table next to Gramp.

  “What do you know?” Gramp snapped back, whereupon the woman’s husband became upset, and the manager had to step in. In minutes, the whole café was one big shouting match, with Gramp at the center, ready to defend his Scrulnick’s to the end.

  “Wait a minute!” cried Ashley. Silence fell, and staff and patrons turned their attention from their bickering to her. “Don’t you know who you’re talking to? This is Gavin Gunhold, the famous Canadian poet!”

  Sean covered his eyes.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve never heard of you!” piped the man whose wife Gramp had just insulted.

  “That’s because the most challenging thing you’ve ever read is the free gift offer on the back of a box of Snappy Wappies!” Gramp retorted, and the bickering started up again.

  “Well, I never!” exclaimed Ashley indignantly. She grabbed Gramp’s arm and led him toward the exit. “Come on, Mr. Gunhold. You don’t have to take this. You’re an artist.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Gramp, turning to thumb his nose at the couple at the next table.