Off to work

Posted by LVDIII on August 14th, 2006 filed in Uncategorized

please note: this entry is a continuation of the December 12, 2005 storyline (click for link). The entries in between now and then should be disregarded for now. They may show up again in the future. This is a work in progress and readers will see some editing happening as I discover the story right along with you.

“What the hell was that?” asked Noel.

“Some bum. Wanted a buck,” I said as I tossed the pack of Sixlets to Noel who was laying on the air mattress on the floor, our sole piece of furniture.

I laid down next to Noel and turned on our thirteen inch black and white TV with the vertical hold problem. I gave the television a good whack on the right side and the picture of news anchor Paul Moyer stabilized.

“…leaving prosecutors dismayed at Mark Furhman’s use of the ‘N’ word. Furnell Chatman is standing by at the courthouse…”

I reached over and flipped the dial to channel 11 for reruns of ‘The Simpsons.’ Noel snuggled up against me and we drifted off to sleep.

The next morning we awoke to the obnoxious Fox 11 morning show. I reached over and flipped the TV off. The phone rang.

“Hello,” I said.
“Noel Carver please,” said the female voice on the other end of the line.
“One sec,” I said. “It’s for you.”

Noel took the phone from me.

“This is Noel… uh-huh… sure. Ten o’clock. No problem. I’ll be there.” She hung up the phone.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Leeza Gibbons… I’ve got to get going.”

Noel was on call with a company called ‘Unlimited Audiences’ that provided a service that is not common knowledge outside of Hollywood. If a show like Maury Povich, Montel, or Sally Jessy Raphael didn’t fill all the seats in their audience, they could go to a service like Unlimited Audiences and hire audience members for ten dollars and hour, three hour minimum. This was not Noel’s first time to the Leeza Gibbons show.

Noel headed for the shower and I wandered into the kitchen to make some coffee for us both. I stood absentmindedly watching the coffee brew when a commotion outside the kitchen window caught my attention. I looked outside and could only see my neighbor Stan walking quickly towards his car in the building’s carport.

“I don’t have a goddamned dollar! Leave me the fuck alone!” shouted Stan. He fumbled for his car keys, clumsily shoving them into the lock. He yanked the door open, jumped in, and slammed the door quickly behind him.

The little man tapped twice on Stan’s trunk as the car passed by and then turned around spotting me in the kitchen window. He kissed his index finger and then gave me the universal ‘number one’ gesture. I ducked down below the kitchen counter just as Noel walked in.

“What are you doing?”
“It’s that guy. Get down.”
“What guy?” asked Noel.
“The dollar guy last night.”
“I don’t have time for this.”

Noel grabbed her travel mug from the sink, rinsed it out, and filled it with coffee.

“You working today?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“See ya later,” she said as she bent down and kissed me.

I slowly stood and peeked out the window. The little man was accosting someone else in the parking lot. Good, I thought. Since we didn’t have a car, Noel would be going out front to catch the bus. Hopefully, I’d be lucky enough to avoid him as well when it was time for me to leave for work.

—-

“Lucius, it’s time to get up for work!” screamed my mother Elizabeth up the stairwell. “Your eggs are getting cold”

Scooter and I sat at the kitchen table listening with anticipation to the AM radio on the counter. It snowed during the night and we hoped beyond hope for a snow day.

“Scooter, drink your orange juice,” said my mother.

My father stumbled down the stairs and slumped into the kitchen chair. He rubbed his unshaven face and ran his fingers through his unkempt hair.

My mother set a plate of bacon and eggs before my father. He looked down, burped slightly, picked up his coffee mug and handed it to my mother. She dutifully filled it and handed it back to him.

“…and now for local school closures,” broadcast the radio.
“I hope we don’t have to go,” said Scooter excitedly.
“Shhh,” I hissed at him.

The radio announcer listed school after school for what seemed an eternity to Scooter and I.

“…and finally, Boardman local is closed today.”
“Yay!” screamed my brother and I.

My father winced in pain.

“Boys, keep it down for your old man would ya?”

He took a sip of his coffee and looked up at the clock.

“We best get going Lizzy.”

My mother sighed. She hated being called Lizzy.

“Lucius, look after your brother,” said my mother. “Don’t go outside until I get back.”

“Ok.”

My mother and father climbed into their winter jackets and walked out the garage door to the car. The Impala rumbled to a start, backed down the driveway, and into the street with my mother driving, my father sipping his coffee in the passenger seat, hungover once again.

Scooter flipped on the television and tuned it to channel 43 WUAB out of Cleveland. It came in kind of fuzzy, but it offered better fare than our local network stations’ morning news or, god forbid, the educational shows on PBS.

Frankenberry and Count Chocula battled it out for who had the superior sugary cereal on the TV screen. Frankenberry came out ahead in that commercial, though Scooter and I disputed that. Count Chocula was by far the superior cereal. It had, after all, sugar and chocolate.

The strains of “Good Old Days,” the theme song for the The Little Rascals faded in. It was the one where the gang was invited to sort of a charity luncheon for poor kids by some wealthy matrons and Stymie discovered a cigar smoking “infant” stealing ladies necklaces aided by a fellow “child.” Stymie had little luck in persuading the rest of the gang that these two kids were actually midgets in disguise.

We sat, satisfied with the Gang’s escapades for a good half hour until my mother returned from dropping my father off at his job working at the loading dock of a dental supply company. He would occasionally bring home cast off mis-manufactured dentures much to the amusement of Scooter and I and the disdain of my mother.

“I’m home boys,” said my mother as she closed the kitchen door behind her.

Scooter and I flashed across the living room like lightning bolts making a beeline for the front hall closet. We pulled on our boots, climbed into our coats, and yanked on our gloves.

“Don’t stay out there too long! Don’t you catch pneumonia!” yelled my mother.

“We won’t,” we said as we flew out the front door to see the glorious white wonderland our front yard had become.

I jumped off our front porch into the snow and found myself up to my knees. Scooter took a running leap and did a belly flop, virtually disappearing beneath the crusty surface of the snow.

The snow was the perfect mix of cold and wet that makes for a great snow fort. Scooter and I spent the better part of the morning rolling four giant snowballs into place to make the base of our fort. We were just adding the crenelation when I heard my name being called from across the street.

“Lucius… Lucius!?” called Mrs. Ravenhardt from her front door. “Would you and Scooter like to make twenty dollars shoveling my driveway?”

“No,” said Scooter under his breath.
“Shuddup,” I hissed at him. “Sure, Mrs. Ravenhardt.”

I started across the street. Scooter did not follow.

“Come on!”
“I don’t wanna”
“It’s twenty bucks”
“I don’t care. I want to build our fort.”
“Come on. It won’t take that long.”
“No.”

“Dammit Scooter,” I sneered at him. He knew once I sneered at him he could either do as I ask or face retribution later.
“You just wanna see Molly,” whined Scooter.
“Shuddup.”

He was right of course. I would have shoveled the entire street with a spoon if it meant a chance to see the beautiful dark haired Molly, middle daughter of the Ravenhardt clan.