Strays. Part 10

"Belle's cute. She was watchin' us play ball the other day."

"Teddy here's fixed up with Wanda today."

"Which one is she now?" asks C.W.

Astin cups both hands and holds them in front of his chest. "Curly hair, real white skin, big rack."

C.W. leans into me. "There you go, Slick. Live off the fat of the land. We make a player out of you yet."

"Ted! Can I see you a minute."

We all look at Mr. Rafter, who came out of nowhere.

I tell him, "Sure."

"I'm not waitin' till your movie's over. Meet me out back."

"Oh, man," says C.W. "He chewed me out yesterday for leavin' the hall light on. Now it's your turn."

Astin shakes his finger at me. "Just don't drag those garbage cans. Lift 'em. That way they last longer."

C.W. points to the screen. "Here comes the monster."

Outside, Bob is turning the trash cans so the OSH labels face the same way. "Want to give me a hand here, Ted?"

We carry the first one out of the little corral he made for them, up the driveway, and almost to the street. Then on our way back, he says, "Let me show you something."

We skip the rest of the trash cans and go right into his workshop, which is spotless. The saw blades gleam, the drill press is immaculate, all the tools hanging on the wall have white outlines like bodies at a crime scene.

"I spend a lot of time in here," he says, "because everything is where it's supposed to be when it's supposed to be there. Are you following me here?"

"I think so."

"Sir."

"I think so, sir."

"So when you're supposed to be down for breakfast at seven thirty, that's what I mean."

"But I do come down at seven thirty."

"Five."

I look up at him. "Pardon me?"

"Seven thirty-five. That's when you came down yesterday."

"Oh."

"Measure twice; cut once. Screw up twice and you're history."

"I'll get up earlier."

"Good for you. You're not much trouble, Ted. I'll give you that. You don't whine to your social worker or give me any lip. But you can always do better."

He leads me outside again. I know what I'm supposed to say. "I can take care of the rest of these trash cans. They're not heavy."

"That's the ticket," he says. "Now, listen up - when Astin leaves in June, we're not taking another boy. That room is yours. The same goes for C.W. if he lasts that long. You two are it. Don't upset the applecart and you can age out here. Then I'm going on a cruise to Alaska: all you can eat and bears to look at through the binoculars. Barbara can come if she wants to or she can sit in her rocker with that doll. It's all the same to me."

"I understand." I pick up one of the green cans.

"Don't drag it, and it'll last longer."

"Yes, sir."

"Make sure you finish up out here before you do anything else."

"Astin and I are just going over to Megan's."

"Well, police this area first, and when you rake that little patch of dirt over there, I want to see all the lines in one direction."

Astin starts the Harley, and I climb on behind him. I used to think I was like the feral cats my mother fed behind the shop. They lived by the underpa.s.s, the parking structure, the clump of trees behind the cul-de-sac.

But I'm not a feral cat, and I wonder if I ever was. Maybe I was just a kid who was hard to like. Every now and then somebody would try, and I'd hiss and run away. But now Astin likes me a little and I can make C.W. laugh.

Astin half turns around. "How'd it go with Bob?"

"I got the workshop tour. 'Everything in its place.'"

"The poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He practically lives out there." Astin pats his pockets. "You got any money, Ted?"

"Some."

"Loan me sixty, will you? I don't want to stop by the ATM. We're late now."

"I have to go upstairs."

"So? What are you waiting for?"

I'm up and down inside of a minute. Astin stashes the three twenty-dollar bills and pops the clutch.

At the stoplight just before we turn onto Huntington, he says, "Wanda goes for younger guys, always has. When we were fourteen, she was making out with twelve-year-olds. When we were sixteen, she was driving fourteen-year-olds around."

"What do I talk to her about?"

"Whatever."

"I'm serious, Astin."

"Tell her about your folks."

"Oh, that's a good idea. 'My parents died in a fiery crash. Can I get you some barbecue?'"

"She's going to go on about how fat she is, okay? So let her and then say, 'Stop being hard on yourself.'"

"I can't tell her what to do. I just met her."

"She's fis.h.i.+ng for a compliment. I'm telling you, man, she's yours if you want her."

I want to tell Astin I wouldn't know where to start. Instead I say, "My father made me promise I wouldn't get married, and my devoted mother told me once the only thing any woman would ever want me for is to get a piece of the business."

He twists the throttle and we spurt ahead. "You know," he shouts, "if those f.u.c.kers were alive, I'd go over there and set their house on fire."

"Too late for that. Anyway, thanks for telling me what to say to Wanda."

"Teddy, man. Relax. It's just a day at the pool with a couple of girls."

I'm not going to tell him I've never been anywhere with even one girl.

Megan and Wanda are waiting for us. Wanda's not more than an inch taller than I am; she's solid and strong when we shake hands. She's barefoot in loose pants and a V-neck top. Megan's wearing some kind of pool cover-up; she looks like a statue about to be unveiled to thunderous applause.

She kisses Astin like we're not there, so Wanda leads me toward the kitchen. "I'd tell them to get a room," she says, "but they would, and where would that leave us?"

I can hardly see the counter for all the stuff from Bristol Farms, a market so upscale that my parents went there to point at things, like they were on a field trip.

I say, "That would leave us alone with enough food for six people."

Wanda pretends to think that over. "You know, that doesn't sound all that bad."

She gets a lot of potato salad on a big spoon. "C'mon. Friends don't let friends eat alone." She hands me a napkin as she says, "My goal today is to gain five pounds and fall asleep in the sun. What's yours?"

Just to not do or say the wrong thing. But I tell her, "I don't know. Maybe I'll gain five pounds too."

"There you go. I like you already."

You wouldn't say that if you'd gone to my other school.

I take a couple of spareribs and some slaw and follow her out toward the pool with its tables and chairs and umbrellas.

Wanda balances her plate of food and her c.o.ke, then falls onto a red chaise. Its cus.h.i.+ons match the bougainvillea that tumbles down the nearest wall.

"What's it like at the Rafters'?" she asks.

I have to remind myself that she's just making conversation.

"It's okay, I guess."

"That thing with your parents. That had to be hard. Did a cop come to the door and everything?"

"Uh-huh."

"Wow, Teddy. Just like in the movies." She shakes her head. "Man, the things that happen to people. Astin's hair caught on fire once."

"On the way over here, he was talking about arson. What's going on with him and matches?"

She checks to see that we're out of earshot. "His parents used, and they'd get high and leave him alone or leave him alone so they could score. So he'd get out the old Bic. My dad was just waiting for him to torch the Rafters'."

"How did your dad know Astin?"

"He knew Bob from church."

"I heard your folks are seeing the sights."

"You can say that again." She chews as she shrugs. "Every week another postcard: the Grand Canyon, Pikes Peak, Mount Rushmore. Every week the same message: 'Glad you're not here!'" She leans over her plate of food. "I saw this thing on TV where they said about ninety percent of lottery winners are miserable."

"You don't look miserable."

"I'm not the lottery winner unless their motor home goes off a cliff. All they do is make the house payments; the rest is up to me. Nice, huh? You'd think I'd been some drug-addicted shoplifting nympho. Instead I got a job when I was sixteen and came home by midnight on weekends." She takes a serious bite of eggplant. "Who cares? I'm out of here the day after graduation, which of course they won't be in town for because there's a saguaro in Arizona they haven't taken a picture of." She holds out her plate. "Now, will you get me some more of everything or at least turn your back while I waddle into the kitchen?"

"Stop being hard on yourself, okay?" I rehea.r.s.ed it so many times in my head that it comes out pretty smooth.

Wanda blushes just a little. "Sorry. You're right."

Just then Megan steps out onto the patio, points with a celery stick, and says, "I wish somebody would shut that dog up."

I tell her, "Give me a minute and I will."

In the kitchen Astin is busy loading up his plate. I step through the big sliding door that leads from the patio.

"How's it going with Wanda?" he asks.

"Fine."

"Do you believe the t.i.ts on her?"

"Shut up. She seems nice. She's easy to talk to."

"Teddy!"

We both glance toward the pool.

"Teddy!" says Megan. "When you come back, bring me a Perrier."

Astin says, "Tell her to get it herself, you don't work here."

"I'm going that way. It's fine."

I deliver Megan's French mountain spring water and Wanda's second helping, then head for the deep part of the yard. I pa.s.s a gardener's shack with its mower, gas cans, and clippers and find a big Irish setter, who is glad to stop barking and chat.