Chapter 7

Monday morning, Art picked me up first. He thanked me for taking care of Manny the night before. We pulled up to Emilio’s apartment and I asked Art how he knew already. He just looked at me and smiled. There was a whole other communication channel I didn’t know anything about. If I didn’t have that figured out by the end of the summer, I never would.

I took Dane’s advice. I would finish well. It was my last two weeks and when Hector showed up at the house we were working on, I gave my two weeks’ notice. Hector knew but he smiled and said I had done work to be proud of. That made it easy to take the rest of Dane’s advice. For the next two weeks, I worked as though I had something to prove. Dane said it was easy to slack off when you knew you were leaving but I’d pay the price if I did. My co-workers would think less of me but so would I. I worked hard.

On Tuesday night, Franklin picked me up and we drove to James Island School of Empty Hand. We arrived at the dojo a little early. We were about to go in when Franklin put a hand on my shoulder.

“What’s your goal tonight?”

“I just want to see what this is all about. All I know is TV and movies.”

“Okay. Save your assessment until we’re out the door and on the road home,” he said and I agreed.

We went in and met Sensei Yazami. He seemed nice enough and told us a little about the dojo and the style he taught. He had learned Ishin-something-or-other in Japan and had been teaching for twenty years. We were invited to watch a beginning adult class. If we wanted to stay, there was an intermediate class right after that.

We took seats and watched his students line up for class. There were twelve to fifteen guys wearing white outfits with white, yellow, purple, and orange belts. The youngest was probably twelve and the oldest was probably thirty or so. Everyone was quiet. Everyone was respectful. They all bowed when they went onto the practice area and again when the class started. Sensei Yazami started the class and invited someone else to run the warmup exercises. It was simple calisthenics and some stretching.

We watched them practice punching the air, then elbowing the air, and then kicking the air for nearly an hour. If the air ever felt like fighting, it was going to get hurt. No doubt about it. Then they lined up in two opposing lines. The guys on one side threw a punch and the guy on the other blocked it. They were disciplined but what they were learning didn’t seem terribly useful.

We watched the class end and the intermediate class begin. It was more of the same but with a bit better control and more advanced techniques. I was ready to leave but Franklin wanted to stay until class was over. When it finished, Sensei Yazami came over to us and asked if we had any questions.

Franklin looked at me and I shook my head. He told Sensei Yazami that we enjoyed our visit but didn’t have any questions.

“You have a question,” he said to me. “You may ask. Whatever you want to know, I will answer if I can.”

I looked at Franklin and he just shrugged. “I think I’m good,” I said.

“Please,” Yazami said. “I learn from what you ask. Perhaps it is a question I have not heard before.”

“Okay. Everybody seems all focused and everything but I don’t see the practical application. When does that come in?”

“Ah. You want to know how to beat someone up?”

“No. I want to be able to defend myself better than I already can.” I hesitated. Franklin said to hold off on my assessment but this was killing me. “Do you teach your students how to defend themselves?”

“Ah. Yes, yes. That is one of the goals.”

“When does that happen?”

“Not tonight, eh?” He asked and I shrugged. “Our students are building a solid foundation. They do not practice until they get it right. They practice until they cannot get it wrong. When they have the foundation of basics, they will learn to apply them.” His answer was good but I should never play poker. He could tell that I wasn’t impressed. “One moment,” he said and we waited while he turned and called two brown belt students. They had a private conversation and he returned.

“Mr. White and Mr. Notans have graciously agreed to demonstrate kumite. I would very much like your opinion when they finish.”

We sat back down. Sensei Yazami stood between them, said some words to them we couldn’t hear. The two of them got into fighting stances. He hollered, “Kumite” and they began. It was a lot more interesting than the class. They both seemed pretty fast. They threw punches and kicks at each other but they were both able to block them or back away. At the end of it, they had each been punched once or twice. None of their kicks landed.

Sensei Yazami had them bow to each other, then to him, and they were done. He came back. I whispered to Franklin, asking if I should answer what I thought. “Up to you. If he asks, it’s because he wants to know.”

“Mr. Pierce, what did you think?”

“It was interesting.”

“But you are unconvinced. You have some experience, perhaps.”

“I might have a little,” I said, sounding a lot like Dane.

“Then, please tell me what you think.”

“I learned a little boxing. This is different.”

“Yes. Very different from western boxing. Maybe not better. Maybe not worse, but different. Tell me, if you were to compete with Mr. Notans, for instance, what would you do?”

“Well, I’d stay out of the way of his kicks, that’s for sure. I’d circle. Neither of them circled. It was all pretty straight line and both of them telegraphed what they were going to do. If I were going to fight one of them, I’d circle so they would have a hard time kicking me. Then, I’d close the distance. I wouldn’t throw just one punch like they were doing. I would throw punches until I saw some results.”

“Yes. Exactly right. Very good. Very good. You have seen much tonight.”

“I wouldn’t want to get kicked by one of them. Do you think what I said would work?” That was my real question. Did I need to worry about getting beat up by some ninja guy from the James Island School of Empty Hand?

“Perhaps. Perhaps you also telegraph.”

“Do they learn how to fight someone like me? Someone who boxes. Someone who doesn’t fight the same way.”

“Yes. But this is not the goal until they have mastered many more basics. But I can see that you are impatient. Perhaps it would take too much commitment to reach your goals.

“Sensei Yazami, my dad was an investor. He always said I should measure the return on investment. He would tell me to decide if the time or money I had to invest would net the return I hoped for at a price I was willing to pay.”

“Dang, Jack. You were paying attention,” Franklin said. I think I must have quoted Ronnie. I’d heard it often enough.

“Mr. Pierce, it would take several years of investment for the return you seek. However, you would find returns that you do not expect. You would find balance, patience, discipline, self-control, and harmony.”

“I’m sure I would. I really appreciate it, especially the kumite part.”

“Mr. Pierce, there is one thing many of my students benefit from that you would not.”

That got my attention. “What’s that?”

“Self-confidence. You would not have any more if you studied here. Perhaps you would have less.”

I smiled and nodded. Franklin and I shook hands with him, thanked him again, and left.

“Well, you pretty much summed that up.”

“Yeah. I didn’t mean to but if those guys have to spend years studying Ishin-something-or-other before they could square off against me, I think I’ll pass.”

“Timex told you that boxing wouldn’t prepare you to fight someone who kicked,” Franklin said.

“No, but I’ve been thinking. How many schools like this are there in the Lowcountry? Five or six? Even if there were a dozen, how many of their students stick with it long enough for it to be useful?”

“Your odds of having to fight one of them is pretty small, right?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. I’d probably be more likely to have to fight someone who is a better boxer, or maybe wrestles.”

“Probably true. So, do you think you could have beat either of those two tonight?”

“I told Yazami what I would do and he didn’t argue or anything. I’m younger but about the same size as the Notan guy. To be honest, I think I could probably beat the crap out of him.”

“Yazami’s right about one thing. You wouldn’t get any more confidence there.” We both laughed at that. “From what I saw, and the approach you described, I think you’re probably right. Kung fu or not, a punch is a punch is a punch, and I don’t think his blocks would be very effective against your jabs. And, I didn’t see anything that would suggest they were prepared for combinations or to be wrapped up like you did to Vince the other day.”

Franklin drove us back to the house. I thanked him for taking me and hit the sack while he went looking for Mom and Dane. I lay in bed thinking about it for a while. The cool factor wasn’t enough to beat the practicality factor. If I did anything when school started, I’d probably go back to Mink’s. I wished Vince had been with us. I would have liked his opinion.

Wednesday afternoon, Manny and I were working together, planting a bunch of honeysuckle, when he told me about what had happened with Gail. My guess about what she’d actually said was almost exactly right. I told him that maybe a few too many beers might have had something to do with it. He didn’t like that at first. Three homes later, he told me he’d cut back on the beers. I suggested it didn’t seem like that big of a sacrifice if it would help their relationship and he agreed.

Friday afternoon, I asked Art to drop me off at home first. I raced inside to get ready. My hands were a mess. I had bought a big pump jug of Gojo mechanic’s hand cleaner and I used a bunch of it. When my hands were done, I jumped in the shower. Plant crap came out of my hair when I washed it. Emilio and I had cleared a lot of Elaeagnus plants and they tore us up. Wiry vines and needle-like thorns were bad enough, but on top of that, we had to dodge poison ivy.

I toweled off and checked my beard and mustache to see if I needed a trim. Nope. Not yet. I slipped on a pair of Cesare Attolini slacks, a light blue Eton dress shirt, and a pair of Cole Haan oxfords. Until Franklin had taken me shopping for clothes a few months back, I didn’t know one brand from the other. I looked in the mirror and admired the fit. Ronnie always said you get what you pay for. Franklin and I had heard it a hundred times. Looking sharp and feeling good, I knew he was right. What I was wearing would have set me back three weeks’ wages but this came from a different pot of money.

I walked out to touch base with Mom before Kim picked me up. She had all the frozen food out on the counter and was rearranging it. When she realized I was there she turned to look. She whistled. I don’t think I’d ever heard her whistle before.

“Damn, buddy. You look sharp. Really sharp. Is that something you got when you went shopping with Franklin?”

“Yup. Haven’t had a reason to wear it until tonight.”

“Wait. You’re not going to ... you didn’t...”

“No, Mom. We’re just going out to dinner and a movie and I thought I’d dress up a bit. It’s been a pretty casual summer.”

“Whew. I thought maybe you’d picked up the ring and were going to propose. Where to?”

“82 Queen. I actually have reservations.”

“You look really nice, Jack. Let me grab the camera,” she said and went to her room to get it. I didn’t mind. She took a couple of pictures in the game room and I said I wanted one more. We went to the library and I pulled one of Dad’s cigars out of the box. I had no idea how to hold it. I rested my arm on the fireplace mantle and crossed my ankles. I smiled the way I thought Hugh Hefner might if he knew who was waiting for him in the bedroom. She snapped a couple and we were done. Right until Kim arrived.

Oh, man, did she look good. She had on a light floral print dress that hugged her curves. Her tan against the light background looked amazing. Her hair had a soft wavy curl to it that she knew I loved. And when she smiled, she showed off her bright white teeth and wonderful dimples.

We stood there in the entryway and I just looked. “You are devastating, Baby. Absolutely devastating.” She smiled so I could just enjoy her a bit. “I need to go call the restaurant.”

“I thought you had reservations, Jack,” Mom said.

“I do, but I need to let them know they need EMS on standby because when we walk in, some guys are going to have heart attacks.”

“Stop it,” Kim protested, but not too much.

“You really are beautiful, sweetheart,” Mom said. “Let me take your picture, too.”

She took a couple with just Kim and then a couple with us together. We were serious until the last one and we stuck our tongues out. Mom was done. She watched us walk down the steps and across to Kim’s truck. I was about to break pickup truck etiquette and open the door for her when she put her hand on it to keep me from opening it.

She tilted her head toward the garage. “Want to?”

“You know how to drive a stick?” She nodded once. “Hell yes!”

We crossed to Vince’s MG, I held the door open for her, then realized it was low enough that Kim would appreciate a hand. She took my hand and lowered herself into the seat. The seat belt would be hard to reach so I pulled it forward and handed it to her, shut her door and walked around to lower myself into the seat. She fired it up and we sat there listening to it for a minute. It was so noisy. I loved it. She looked at the little diagram on top of the shift knob, then put it in reverse and backed out.

“You two be careful,” Mom hollered to us. “It’s small and you’re not used to it.” Kim waved and we were off.

We were as low as a go-kart, but a lot faster. Kim accelerated and we were off. “There goes my hair,” Kim said, and I smiled at it flying in the wind behind her.

“You’re beautiful.”

“This is fun. We’re so low.”

We zoomed up Folly Road and cut across on Highway 17 to the Allen Legare Bridge toward downtown. We passed the boats in the marina to our right. It was impossible not to enjoy the moment. We turned right on Lockwood and followed it down to Broad, with the marina on our right. I could hear the engine accelerate, slow, a shift in gears, then do it again. We left the marina behind, passed Colonial Lake to our left, and were downtown. We had to stop for a light at King Street and a truck pulled up on our right. I had to resist the urge to wave up at them. My head was at least a foot below the level of the bottom of his window. The light changed and we were off. Too much fun.

We passed the restaurant and turned left into the parking garage across the street. She pulled into a parking spot too small for anything but us. I climbed out and walked around to help her out.

“We should put the top up and lock it. Do you know how?” I sat down in the driver’s seat and reached back, grabbed the top and pulled it up, then locked it in place. I rolled up the windows and locked it. Kim was running her fingers through her hair.

“Don’t forget to straighten your smile. It’s a little crooked.” She laughed and I gave her my arm to walk across the street for dinner. We were escorted to our table and I remembered to hold the chair for Kim and help her adjust before I took my own seat. The restaurant was full but it was quiet. I liked that. We talked over the menu and ordered. Kim had jambalaya and I had steak and shrimp. Once we ordered, we took the time to check out the rest of the diners.

“I bet half the people in here are Yankees,” I said.

“Okay, who? Pick a table and tell me if they’re locals or tourists, and then, if they’re tourists, if they’re Yankees or something else.”

I picked a table and proclaimed them to be tourists, on the third day of their vacation, having a great time away from New York. Kim said the next table was from the north, and we continued around the room. It seemed like more than half were from out of town, at least according to us. When our waiter returned, I asked him if he had to guess, how many of their diners were Yankees.

“They are everywhere, sir. Some of us have even infiltrated the staff,” he said with an accent about like Dane’s. He was smiling.

“Noooo. Say it isn’t so,” I protested.

“I’m afraid it’s true. However, you shouldn’t be alarmed. Our chef isn’t a Yankee.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

He leaned close and whispered, “He’s from France.” He raised his eyebrows and I had to laugh. I liked him. Yankee or not, he was going to get a good tip. He told us our order would be out shortly and left. She looked back and to her right and said the next table was locals.

I looked at the next table and instantly knew where they were from. “I’d say he is a Yankee and she is from Spain.”

Kim blinked twice and it dawned on her. She leaned forward and whispered, “Marie and Doctor Legare?” She couldn’t see them without being obvious.

“No. Doctor Tipman. I’m not sure if he’s a Yankee. He might be from out west or something.”

“No way,” she said and then sat back up, smiling. “Are they enjoying themselves?”

“Seem to be. He could see me if he was looking but he hasn’t noticed I guess.”

“Well, don’t wave at him or anything. As far as we know, he just got done with a dance lesson and they decided to eat together.”

“I made reservations a week ago,” I said.

“Yeah. Probably not a spontaneous type of place for dinner, is it? I won’t wave or anything like that. Want to ride tomorrow? I want you to enjoy riding in PR.”

We talked about riding and horses and our vacation, coming in just over a week. Turns out, I had a lot more questions than I realized. There was a lot more to horses and riding than I’d ever imagined. A lot more.

Dinner was amazing and the service was great. It would have cost two days’ wages and I didn’t think Manny would be bringing Gail to 82 Queen anytime soon. Knowing how much it cost, and being able to relate that to the blisters and calluses necessary to pay for it on low wages helped me appreciate the advantages I had a bit more. Okay, it helped me appreciate it a lot more. We finished and were about to leave when I realized it would be difficult to do that without having Doctor Tipman spot us. We talked it over. The answer was pretty obvious when we thought it through.

We walked toward the front door with Kim in front. Neither of us were going to acknowledge them unless one of them acknowledged us first. Easy. Kim led the way and as we passed their table, Doctor Tipman caught my eye. He smiled and we held eye contact for just a second and that was that.

The weather was still nice so I put the top down and Kim drove back toward the house. I pretty much decided that my first car should be a sports car. We drove over to the used bookstore and laughed at that. From a high-end restaurant to shopping at the used bookstore. From a Ford F-150 to an MG. We could be happy in either place or in either vehicle as long as we were together. We wanted a couple of books to take with us on vacation.

I took a look at the rows and tried to decide what genre I wanted to read. After two lengthy science fiction novels, and a bunch of westerns before that, I was ready for something different. I found two in the mystery section that looked good. I grabbed Robert Parker’s novel The Godwulf Manuscript and The Adventures of Sam Spade, an anthology of Dashiell Hammett’s short stories. They were both fairly short so I picked up three more of Parker’s novels and Leon Uris’s Topaz. Kim couldn’t find anything she liked that she hadn’t already read. I showed her mine and she went back for second copies of each. We’d never done that before. One of my favorite things to do with Sally was read the same book at the same time and talk about it.

We drove back to my house, enjoying the fresh air. I couldn’t help but stick my hands straight up and let the wind blow them around. Kim laughed and I started making airplane noises. She pulled into the garage and we listened to the exhaust echo off the garage walls for a minute before she killed the engine.

“That was so cool,” she said.

I helped her up. “Very cool. It smells like exhaust in here. I just realized I don’t know what kind of gas this takes.”

“We did use about a thimble full. Probably regular.”

We walked across to her truck, debated on doing anything else or calling it a night. It was overcast and mosquitos were out. We had a short smoochfest and she left. I went to the library with my new books. I laughed at the fact that I had a signed Hemingway on the shelves between other hardbacks, many of them leather bound. Yet, there I was with a couple of new paperbacks and was happy about it. I was busting my butt working but spent half a week’s salary on dinner. It was from a different pot of money. It all made sense to me but it was still weird. I waited five minutes and called Kim.

“Hey. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Of course, I am.”

“I don’t want to mess it up. You’d tell me if I was messing it up, right?”

“I’d tell you. And you’d tell me, right?”

“You couldn’t mess it up,” I said.

“Exactly. You either. Go read your book,” she said, we made syrupy sweet kissing sounds and hung up.

Saturday morning, Kim picked me up early. We wanted to ride before it got too hot and it was going to be a scorcher. After we groomed our horses, we put an English saddle on each horse. We walked them for a couple of laps, and she taught me how to do a posting trot. I’d learned early on that wearing boxers and horseback riding didn’t mix. That’s one of those lessons you only learn once. I was definitely glad to be wearing the right clothes for a posting trot. You have to lift out of the saddle and sit back down in a rhythm that matches the horse.

When I got the hang of that, she had me lift up out of the saddle another six inches and bend forward at the waist and I was in a two-point position, with only my knees making contact with Ghost. It took a while but once I got a feel for it, I realized what was going on. My knees were like shock absorbers, keeping my weight suspended in the stirrups and letting Ghost move a lot more easily. Kim said it was the same position I’d use for galloping and it was the same position jockeys used when racing. I wasn’t a cowboy anymore. Now, I was a jockey. ‘And they’re off’. I asked if I’d have to learn another position when I learned to play polo and she laughed and laughed and then laughed some more. I wasn’t trying to be funny. Oh well. I guessed that meant I was light years from playing polo.

We stayed in the indoor arena where it was cooler. I felt like I was getting better at it. At least I felt more comfortable. Kim said Ghost, or any horse, would feed off my attitude, and confidence is what they wanted most. By the time we were done, she said I was ready for Ajax. I hadn’t known I was getting ready for Ajax. After we groomed our horses, we hosed them down and squeegeed the water off. They seemed to like it. We walked down to Ajax’s stall and I gave him a couple of treats so he would get to know me. I asked why she wanted me to ride Ajax.

“Ghost will ride English but he’s better for western. Ajax will do anything. He’s level four dressage.”

“I don’t have any idea what that means,” I said.

“He can do counter changes in half pass, working pirouettes, and perform multiple flying changes.”

“That didn’t help. I still don’t know what it means.”

“He’s well-trained and really responsive. On top of that, he’s a level four or five hunter/jumper. He’ll show jump but he loves speed. I’ve never seen him barrel race but I’m sure he would do great.”

“And I needed to improve before I could ride him? It seems like if he’s that good, he wouldn’t care how good I am.”

“Because he’s that good, we want someone skilled and confident on him. Trust me on this,” she said.

“There’s still a lot to learn, isn’t there?”

“So much you wouldn’t believe it. You can get a Bachelor’s degree in equine science.”

“Holy crap. What would that involve? I mean how much more is there to know?”

“Oh, my gosh, Jack. Let’s see. Anatomy and physiology, breeding, nutrition, disease and treatment, farm management, training, racing, different types of competition, and there’s probably classes on teaching. That’s just off the top of my head. There are probably specialty areas. I know there are. There are probably classes just on hooves. Do you have any idea how many breeds there are?”

“Okay, okay. Holy crap, that’s a lot.”

“It is a lot and you think I know all this stuff, but basically, I can ride. That’s it. General care and a bit about nutrition, too, I guess but not much more.”

Ajax had eaten all my treats but he was still attentive and that was good. I rubbed his muzzle and scratched the top of his head, between his ears and he snorted a little to let me know he liked it.

“If you really want to get on his good side, scratch his rump. He loves it.”

“His rump? Really?”

“Yup. You already know horses love the attention. He can’t reach to scratch and for some reason, he loves it. When he gets turned out to pasture, the first thing he does is roll around on his back.”

I grabbed a brush and went into his stall. I ran my hand down his back, then started scratching his rump. He immediately dropped his head and snorted approval. I watched his tail perform a lazy swish and moved to the other side. She was right. If he was a big cat, he would have been purring. I did that for a couple of minutes and walked back out. On the way, Ajax nuzzled me.

“I think Ajax has a new best friend,” Kim said.

“Ajax is easy. Want me to scratch your rump?”

“I’m not easy. But I might let you. It’s been a while,” she said as she got into the truck. She wasn’t kidding.

Without much of a plan, we drove to my house. It was quiet, meaning Mom wasn’t in the kitchen. Kim cooked up some omelets while I just watched. Kim whipped the eggs and poured them into a pan, then diced up tomatoes, peppers, and some other goodies she found in the fridge. When she flipped the eggs, she added all that and topped it with cheese.

“What’s going on?” Mom asked as she walked in with Dane right behind her.

“I’m making some Scottish omelets,” Kim said.

“Scottish? Looks like a Western omelet to me.”

“I’m Scottish. You’re Scottish, Jack’s Scottish, and it’s how they make them on the Isle of Barra Beach,” Kim answered, with a terrible Scottish accent.

“I’ll bite,” Dane said. “What’s the Isle of Barra Beach?”

“Western Scotland,” Kim answered.

“You two were made for each other,” Mom said. “We’re going. Be back in a couple of hours.”

“Where to?” I asked, as Kim set a plate of Isle of Barra Beach eggs in front of me and started on a second round for herself. “Why are you all dressed up?”

“Dancing. I have a couple of lessons to teach today and since it looks like it’s going to storm...”

“And I like to watch Christie dance...”

“He’s taking me. This might turn out to be a doozy. Did you two come straight here from riding? Let your parents know you’re here, sweetheart. Your dad will worry. Be good. See you,” she said and they were gone.

“This is great,” I said as Kim sat across from me. She took a bite, nice and slow. I took one, and we began to devour our lunch. We raced and when we finished, we ran to the guest room. Mom said to be good. We were good. We were very, very good.

An hour later, we were getting dressed. I looked at Kim in the bathroom mirror and she had a ridiculous smile on her face. I did too. “Let’s go swimming,” I said.

“Have you seen the sky?” she protested.

“Yeah. Looks like it’s going to rain. Let’s go swimming.”

“We’ll get soaked,” she said. I just looked at her. “Okay, that was stupid.”

“Mom and Dane are gone and we don’t really know when they’ll be back but we have these crazy smiles on our faces and they’ll know.”

“And if we go swimming, they won’t? And you thought I was stupid for saying we’d get soaked if we went swimming?”

“Come on. The first sound of thunder and we’re done. We’ll have a reason for silly grins.”

Ten minutes later we were in the deep end, grinning like idiots. Fifteen minutes after that, we were back out of the water as the first boom of thunder crashed too close for comfort. We ran for the house.

“If I get struck by lightning, you are in a lot of trouble,” she said.

“If your hair sticks up, squat low,” I said running with her.

We got to the door and stepped into the mudroom, just as it started to pour. “Whew,” I said, “Another few seconds and we would have gotten soaked.” We were already soaked from swimming.

We stood there, dripping for a couple of seconds, and then hugged each other. We made a squishing sound. I moved, and was rewarded with another squishing sound. I did it again.

“Stop it, you goof,” she said and stepped back. “Why would I squat if my hair stood up?”