Chapter 28

Thursday, April 11, 2002

Jenny woke me up before my alarm clock did when she got out of bed and headed for the shower. I got up myself and went and reviewed my memo for Uncle Craig and the family to make sure I hadn't been dreaming everything. It sure didn't look like it; I was pleased at how well the idea was looking now. I didn't really have any idea how many families would want to live there, nor could I be sure that the number of leaseholders would stay as high as I thought.

Still, the bottom line was that even if half the tenants left, which seemed unlikely, how many people lived in a house that put close to half a million bucks a year into their pockets? A lot of people would be happy to earn more $40,000 a year; having that as a monthly income, even if split four, five or six ways, wasn't something to sneeze at.

Then I had a real brainstorm; probably one of the most important insights of my life. Who were the smartest people I knew? Elizabeth, Jenny and JR. Who had told me to do the memo all by myself? The answer to the last question was no one. I promptly logged onto my email program and fired off a copy to each of them.

I patted my computer on top of the monitor. Elizabeth practically slept with her computer; if she didn't have her nose in a book, she was sitting at her keyboard doing all sorts of things. Sure, I do school work on the computer, I type my diary on it. But it's like a hammer or screwdriver to me; a tool I use to do a job. Still, now and then, even a hammer or computer needs a little praise for doing the job particularly well.

Jenny was out of the shower by then, so I did my morning things, then zipped downstairs to the kitchen. No way was I going to miss breakfast two days in a row! Dad had a little gizmo thing that did doughnuts and pancakes; I mixed up pancake batter and got the griddle hot. I filled a little soup pan half full of water, set the heat on low and put the maple syrup in it to warm up.

By the time people were ready to eat, I managed a steady stream of pancakes, then finished up the last of them all by my lonesome.

Just before seven, the house phone rang, and Dad went off to get it. He was back a minute later, shaking his head.

"That was Craig; the school district decided to punt. They've suspended your principal for a week, while they 'look into the matter.'"

"And what did Craig say to that?" Mom asked.

Dad grinned wolfishly. "Craig says the suit is filed tomorrow unless they meet our terms. We aren't in a mood for compromise or half measures, he told them."

Dad turned to me. "This is called brinkmanship when you're in politics. You have to be careful you don't paint yourself into a corner."

Mom changed the subject, "We didn't ask how Tom's visit turned out yesterday afternoon."

It was my turn to grin wolfishly. "Let's just say that I was surprised at the numbers. Currently they lease out two floors and the income is about $64,000 a month, on a lease payment nearly three times that. As I told the leasing agent, it isn't a surprise that they are going out of business."

Mom looked troubled. "The payment would be $200,000 a month? That doesn't sound like a very affordable house payment. We could buy a couple of places in the Country Club for that."

"I'm working on something. It's not quite ready for you to see yet. Hopefully tonight."

It was Dad's turn to look troubled. "Craig isn't fond of quick, sloppy work. Your mom and I aren't either. You should take your time with it, Tom. You need to be careful. There are a lot of questions."

"There are," I admitted. "Still, a lot of the questions are just engineering; the concept's solid," I said that with a smile. I'd heard that from Dad since I was little, when he was working as an engineer. Concepts, he'd told me a thousand times, are the hard part. Once you've got the concept, the rest is engineering. It's like a jigsaw puzzle; once you have the picture, the rest is just fitting the pieces together.

When Elizabeth got in the van, she told me she'd gotten my email. Jenny chipped in that she'd gotten it too. "I don't see any problems with it, except you need to put in money for remodeling expenses," Elizabeth told me. "If you make it pretty, people will pay more to have their offices there."

I'd been thinking the other way, cutting the price. Remodeling? Everything I'd ever heard about remodeling said it was expensive. I was sure I didn't have to ask anyone about it, even though I would. I bet remodeling cost about as much as you were willing to pay, and you had to be very careful to get what you paid for.

Jenny said something to Elizabeth, that I didn't catch, then turned to me. "Sometimes, Tom, less can be more too."

I was driving by then, so I couldn't pay her much direct attention. "What do you mean?" I asked, while watching the traffic around me.

"Well, we went to a dentist that had an office in a building with an atrium, with plants and fountains and all of that," Jenny told me.

I remembered my dream, and I was suddenly a lot more interested in what Jenny had to say.

"The dental assistant that I saw when I went there told me once that the dentist's wife complained a lot about how much the building spent on the plants and fountains, but the dentist had laughed, saying a lot of people thought it was restful. The assistant agreed, she brought her lunch and she'd go out to the atrium to eat it. And, she said, some patients came early so they could just sit and watch the fountains, and be near the plants."

That came under the heading of another good idea.

I stopped at Mr. Miller's desk before homeroom started. "Who's principal today?" I asked.

He looked at me, and for a second I thought he was going to laugh. "That's up in the air, Brad Jones for the time being."

I was sure that wouldn't be acceptable to Uncle Craig, but I just nodded. A girl in the front row spoke up. "I heard you're a millionaire and that terrorists are going to be beating down a path to the front door of the school."

I hadn't really thought about what to say. I'd spoken to Tony about it; maybe I'd been hoping that would take care of it.

I shrugged. "My grandparents on both sides set up trust funds for my sister and I. In addition, we have cousins... there's like ten of us altogether. I don't know where the school got their information, but it's not really that big of a deal. The amount wasn't accurate, either."

I said it all like it was no big deal, that it was all a mistake.

The girl, Sharon Crossland, nodded. "I wondered, because I've seen where you live. It didn't seem likely someone with that much money would live there. And you drive a beat up old Camry."

"Not any more. The Camry got totaled."

Mr. Miller nodded towards my seat. "You have just about enough time to get seated, Tom."

I hustled, laughing to myself. Yeah, do the small things, and don't forget, no matter what. You don't do people favors by cutting them a little slack, unless you were really careful.

And that was pretty much it. I mean, in high school these days, no one much cares about anything except what they and their friends are doing. I didn't have that many friends, ergo, no one cared about me and what I did. And the people who knew me just laughed at the thought of my being hugely rich.

I suppose it's unfair, that it's a bad thing to mislead your friends, even more or less out and out lie to them. But it wasn't any of their business, and having money in the bank didn't make any difference to who I am.

There were kids at the school who could run faster than me, throw a football, baseball or basketball better than me. Better golfers, better bowlers, better at Scrabble, at Monopoly, who could sing better than me, play an instrument better than me, draw better than me. All kinds of things for all kinds of people. Some were taller, some shorter, some fatter, some skinnier. So what? I had a bigger bank account than they did. Big deal!

I bet the woman who wrote the Harry Potter books has a bigger bank account than I do! Randy Johnson, the baseball pitcher. Quite a few people in the world have bigger bank accounts than me.

I just put it out of my mind. As far as I was concerned, my bank balance was like my computer. A tool to work with, to get the job done.

At lunch, I saw Anna Jackson walking past, I decided that it would be nice to talk to her; I had never talked to her except at the orgy.

I jumped up from the table and went after her. She saw me coming and stopped. "Having a good day, Tom?"

"Pretty good," I told her, "Could I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure."

We went and found a patch of shade; it gave me time to get my thoughts together.

"At Sue Ellen and Janey's party..."

I could see mild concern in her eyes; I saw her glance back at Elizabeth and Shannon at the lunch table. I met her eyes and shook my head. No, this wasn't about the party theme, or my asking her out on a date.

"You said something about how you've never been discriminated against by white people, just, mostly your own family."

"Blacks in general," she said coolly, looking at me with curiosity. "So?"

"I talked to a man who runs an outreach program for kids on the street. He's black, and I'm not sure but what he's rather down on people who aren't black."

"Two things, Tom. It's really complicated, but there are two things you should think about. Look back at where you were sitting."

I did, it was just the usual crew at the table. Tony and Sue Ellen were popular; there were always different people around them. Our tables sat eight, and right now there were two other cheerleaders at the table, and a guy I didn't recognize, but who was a boyfriend of one of the cheerleaders.

"They're all white. Tell me, Tom. What would happen if a black member of the football team wanted to sit down at your table?"

"I don't think anyone would give him their seat, but if there was room, he'd be welcome."

"And what would happen if Tony went and sat down over there," she pointed about thirty feet away, to a table with black football and basketball players.

I shrugged, "I don't know."

"Tony wouldn't have a problem letting anyone on the team sit down. He'd just move over, make room, and treat the guy just like he would anyone else on the team. It's no secret that everyone on the football team isn't bosom buddies, but it didn't stop them from presenting a united face to everyone else.

"But if Tony tried to sit down at their table, they'd tell him there wasn't room. Even if there was. That's called solidarity, standing together. If Tony refused to let a black sit at his table, he'd be called a racist. It might start a fight; they could complain, and very likely get Tony in trouble. If Tony complains about the double standard, he's still a racist."

I nodded. Talk about double standards! "I think I need to learn more about it," I told her. "I just don't understand."

"That's because you think about it. Look back at your table, Tom. Two guys now, three with you there. Five black boys and two girls at the other table. How many guys at your table are going to jail in their lifetime, Tom?"

"Not me!" I said emphatically. "I don't see anyone likely to, although I don't know the guy talking to Tony."

"Tom, two or three of the guys at the black table are likely to go to jail. In fact, it's not even worth betting, because I know two of them have already been in jail. Half of all black men, Tom, go to jail before they're thirty."

That didn't seem to make any sense at all, and I said so.

"No, it doesn't. Some blacks will tell you that it's you white people, putting them down. But the crimes they go to jail for are real; mostly. It's them putting themselves down."

She sniffed, "Something like one in ten is going to get shot or stabbed too, at some point."

I shivered, remembering. "That's not limited to blacks," I said, my mouth dry. The memory seemed fresh and vivid; like it had happened just a little while before.

"Yeah. Good people like you Tom; you have to stay on your toes. Just do your best; even if a good many blacks don't like you. But hey, that's being brothers and sisters, not racism."

I'd been thinking, something was tickling the back of my mind. What had Janey said? She was going to have a Janey party? I needed to talk to her. I wondered if she wanted to have a Janey and Tom party?

"Thanks, Anna."

"You go back to your table," she told me. "I'm going to hear about this as it is."

"Maybe you should think about sitting elsewhere," I said levelly.

"I wish! I have enough trouble as it is! I gotta save it for the fights that count!"

Little things, big things. "Maybe all the fights count, and if more people wouldn't give up on the little ones, the big ones would be easier," I offered.

She looked at me and shook her head. "Easy to say, just a little hard to live. Like I said, it's complicated."

She went towards the other black students, and I shook my head and went back to Tony's table.

No one said anything, or seemed concerned about my having talked to Anna. From what Anna said, some of the people she ate lunch with were going to have issues because we talked. One of these days I should go over there and sit down and talk to her at the table. Not bother to ask, just sit down.

I looked around the area where the tables were. It was outside; when the weather was nice, the tables were usually full. It had been steadily warming up all week, and was likely to hit 90 about four in the afternoon; it was already 80, or close to it. Nothing, for those of us who've lived here for a long time.

All of which was distracting me. Tables with blacks, whites, browns, Asians. There was some mixing, but the blacks were least mixed, whites and Asians the most. But, regardless, there wasn't anything like an even mix.

Even as I saw that, I saw Gloria Rodriquez coming our way. I smiled at her, and moved over. She sat down, glancing at Elizabeth.

"How have you been, Tom?"

"Okay," I told her.

"Could I ask a favor?"

"Sure," I told her.

"Could I come visit you this afternoon? I'd like to talk to you. I can't do it at home, and I don't want to do it here."

"Okay," I paused, and then added, "Do you know if Janey is still in the hospital?"

"She comes home tomorrow. I'll probably go visit her this evening. She likes the company."

"Cool. Maybe we could go earlier, after school? I wanted to ask her a question."

"Could I ride with you, this afternoon?" she asked.

"Sure, always room for one more," I said. I told her where I parked, and she said she'd be there right after school.

I should stop doing it, but I glanced at Elizabeth. It was an odd feeling that I sometimes get from her. When I could tell she knew something, and I had no idea what. Now, she just smiled at me.

When she smiled, that dream I'd had, with the girl, her words echoed in my mind. "You have that look again." Well, Elizabeth had that look again.

"You have so many admirers," Elizabeth told me.

"Better than people who don't like me," I said, seeing Roger Parker a ways off. He was coming our way, too.

He didn't change course, and after a second, I called Tony's name, and jerked my head at Roger. "Battle stations," I said quietly.

Tony looked, grimaced and said, "Man, neither of us can afford to get into it." That was sure true.

"I'll punch him in the nose," Shannon offered. "I owe him."

"No, I get first dibs," Sue Ellen said, laughing.

Roger reached the table and glared at me. "Think you're the big cock on the block, doncha?"

"Better than someone this big," Shannon said, holding up her thumb and forefinger about a long inch apart.

"Joanna said he was really teeny," Sue Ellen said, holding her fingers about a quarter inch apart. "More like this."

Roger's face turned dark red, and he started forward.

Unexpectedly, the other guy at the table spoke. "Say, do you know who I am?"

Roger glanced at him, and went back to glaring.

"I'm called The Rat by some people, Steve Jones to my friends. My dad's the vice principal."

"He's the principal, today," I said.

Steve ignored me. "A lot of people are sure I rat out just about everyone around me. It's not true, because I'm a Steve, not a Rat. But there's a first time for everything."

It wasn't going to be necessary, I thought. Mr. Jones and two other teachers were headed our way. Roger turned and saw them, turned back, hawked and started to spit at me.

He was too slow. Roger's always been slow, I guess. Mr. Jones had grabbed his shoulder, and spun him part way around. The spittle hit one of the other teachers in the face. Coach Jimenez, one of the football coaches.

The two teachers each took an arm, and the three headed in the direction of the office; they didn't speak a word to us.

Steve started talking, speaking in an odd cadence, making it pretty clear he was reciting a poem.

"Often, to amuse themselves, the crew of the ship

Would fell an albatross, the largest of sea birds,

Indolent companions of their trip

As they slide across the deep sea's bitters.

Scarcely had they dropped to the plank

Than these blue kings, maladroit and ashamed

Let their great white wings sink

Like an oar dragging under the water's plane.

The winged visitor, so awkward and weak!

So recently beautiful, now comic and ugly!

One sailor grinds a pipe into his beak,

Another, limping, mimics the infirm bird that once could fly.

The poet is like the prince of the clouds

Who haunts the storm and laughs at lightning.

He's exiled to the ground and its hooting crowds;

His giant wings prevent him from walking."

Steve chuckled, adding, "That guy is an albatross, about to walk the plank."

We all laughed at that. It wasn't my father's idea of a joke, but a piece of what I guess was poetry. I wasn't entirely sure how the poem fit, but it was pretty clear it was meant in the same spirit as one of Dad's jokes.

"Are you the princely poet?" I asked.