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Cadillac Chronicles
Cadillac Chronicles Read online
CINCO PUNTOS PRESS
www.cincopuntos.com
Cadillac Chronicles. Copyright © 2012 by Brett Hartman. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written consent from the publisher, except for brief quotations for reviews. For further information, write Cinco Puntos Press, 701 Texas Avenue, El Paso, TX 79901; or call 1-915-838-1625.
FIRST EDITION
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hartman, Brett, 1964-
Cadillac chronicles / by Brett Hartman.
p. cm.
Summary: Without his mother’s knowledge or approval, sixteen-year-old Alex takes a road trip with Lester, an elderly black man in the adopt-a-senior program, to find Alex’s father in Fort Lauderdale.
Cloth; e -book ISBN 978-1-935955-42-9 [1. Friendship—Fiction. 2. Old age—Fiction. 3. Fathers—Fiction. 4. African Americans—Fiction. 5. Automobile travel—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.H26726Cad 2012
[E]—dc23 2012019961
Book and cover design by Antonio Castro H.
Going to D.F. to talk about covers and collaboration.
Thanks to Harry Durgan for the cover photo of Brett Hartman. Thanks also to good old friend Cephus (Dusty) Rhodes and the handsome Christian Pleters along with his father Michael for sitting through the photo shoot (of sorts) for the cover of Cadillac Chronicles. And to the incomparable H&H Carwash for hosting that event. And to the beautiful girl who walked into Cinco Puntos Press and got her photo taken, but whose phone number I lost. Oh well. Great cover, isn’t it? We can’t forget Vicky Smith who is forever keeping her eye on the world of small presses! We’re still blushing.
In memory of Rebecca Riley
April 11, 2002—December 13, 2006
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
CHAPTER ONE
Alex Riley walked the lower level of the Tri-City Mall while his roving eyes did what they were prone to do—scope out female body parts. And the mall didn’t disappoint. A late spring heat wave had turned the place into a festival of cleavage. It would have been the perfect way to spend a Saturday evening. Except for one annoying detail. His mother was walking next to him, stride for stride. Their mission was to get him a replacement pair of high-top sneakers, and she was all business.
“There it is,” she said, pointing to the illuminated storefront. “Then we’re going home.”
Alex unscrewed the cap from his Dr. Pepper. “Why don’t we do the circuit?” he said. “The whole mall, for exercise?”
“I’ve already treadmilled three miles and my hair’s a mess. Let’s just pick out the shoes and go.”
“You could get your hair done while I walk the mall.”
“Alex, please don’t test my patience.” She remained at the store entry while he surveyed a wall of sneakers. There were dozens of styles, but only one he really wanted. He spotted it mid-level near the cash register. Black leather with understated swooshes. He flipped the shoe and admired it from all angles. Prized sneaker in hand, he stepped toward his mother while she busily worked the keypad on her phone. “Is that what you want?” she said without lifting her eyes from the screen.
“Excuse me, Patricia?” said a lanky man in a blue crew sweater. “Thought that was you.”
Her head popped up at the man’s voice. “Commissioner,” she said. “It’s great to see you.” Her arm gave a little tremble as she pocketed her phone.
“Great to see you too.” The man looked at Alex. “Who do we have here?”
She reached for Alex’s arm and pulled him close. “Commissioner, this is my son Alex. Alex, this is Commissioner Holcombe.”
Alex nodded while gulping the last of his soda.
“How do you do, Alex?” The man extended a gaunt hand, tufts of gray hair at the knuckles like miniature welcome mats.
Alex shook the commissioner’s hand. But then he couldn’t stop himself. The soda had prompted a full-throttled burp, and there was no free hand to cover his mouth. It came out loud and raw. Centered on his tongue was a knob of silver mounted on a post.
His mother gasped. “I am so sorry, Commissioner.”
“It’s quite all right.” The man winked at Alex. “It’s called being a teenager.” He looked back at Patricia. “I’ll see you at the office.”
“Yes, yes, that’ll be great.” She tightened her grip on Alex’s arm. With her free hand she waved goodbye.
Once the commissioner was far enough away, she glared at Alex. “You ungrateful pig! You have any idea who that is?”
He hadn’t really thought about it, but the answer was obvious. His mother was deputy commissioner of Albany County, so the man was probably a rung or two up the political ladder. And she was the climbing type. She wouldn’t get a decent night’s rest until she reached the top step, looking down at everybody else. She went on talking, almost yelling: “If you think you’re getting those sneakers, you’re living in a fantasy world!”
“Sorry mom, but he didn’t care. He even winked at me.”
“I don’t care if he hugged you. What you did was totally uncalled for.”
Alex noticed a pack of kids at a sunglasses kiosk smiling and staring right at him. “Mom, you’re making a scene.”
“Put down the shoe,” she said. “We’re going home.”
SUNDAY MORNINGS were dicey. Alex never knew whether his mother would be in the mood for church or not—could go either way. If she was in the mood, there was no telling which church it would be. She had dragged him to First Presbyterian, St. Mark’s Lutheran, the Unitarians, the Friends Meeting House and the Karma Chakra Buddhist Temple. They had even gone to some black Baptist church on South Pearl because, in his mother’s words, “These people have turned their suffering to inspiration. You can learn from that.” But he knew the real reason they had shown up that day. It was because the mayor of Albany was making a special appearance.
So the whole church-surfing thing was a fraud to the nth power, and Alex was sick of it. His objective was to stay in bed and feign sleep long enough to wear down her resolve. Let her go without him, especially after the aborted sneaker purchase.
It wasn’t even the shoes so much, but the situation at the mall had put him into a funk. In just eleven days, the school year would be over, and he’d be turning sixteen facing another summer of doldrums. His true desire was to track down his long-absent father and get to know the man away from the tarnished lens of his mother. But Alex couldn’t fathom making it all the way down to Fort Lauderdale on his own with no money and no driver’s license.
“Alex,” his mother said from the hall. “Time to get up.”
He didn’t budge. The door swung open. Let the game begin.
“I know you’re awake,” she continued. “
Now get up.”
His mother wasn’t easily fooled. Her advantage was unpredictability. “I thought we’d go to the Friends Meeting House. It’ll give you time to meditate on what you did last night.”
To simulate REM, he shifted his eyeballs around in their sockets.
“It’s after nine, come on.” She gave him a soft nudge. “We’ve got thirty minutes.”
He inhaled deeply.
“Alex, let’s go!” She clapped her hands no more than six inches above his ear. Then she pushed him a little harder. “I know you’re faking, now get yourself up.” She flipped on the ceiling light and pulled the covers down to his waistline.
He felt a chilled rush. “You won’t win this one,” she said. The ability to sleep through such an onslaught was highly improbable. He anticipated her next move.
She laid a hand on his forehead and pried open an eyelid.
“Jesus Christ, mom!” He pushed her arm out of the way. “I’m not going to that zombie church.”
“You’ll go if I say so.”
“No, actually, I won’t. You can’t make me.”
“As long as you’re living under my roof, you’ll abide by my rules.
“It’s barely even your house,” Alex said. “Dad pays most of the mortgage.” He pulled the covers over his head. “I should go live with him.”`
That silenced her for a moment. But then she recovered. “If I thought that was a good idea, I’d let you.”
He didn’t respond. If he pushed, she’d open a spigot of hostility. She’d call his father a loser or a flake (her favorite term), and she’d charge into a tirade on the importance of responsible parenting. It was too early in the morning to deal with that. Still, he had to say something. He lowered the covers enough to see the angst on her face. “You were the one who pushed him away.”
She shook her head. “No, Alex, he did that all on his own.”
That’s when the phone rang. His mother wasn’t the type to let a call go unanswered. At the very least, she’d check the caller ID. She was gone by the second ring.
His door remained open. He could hear her talking professional jargon with someone named Rebecca.
Hallelujah, church be damned.
CHAPTER TWO
It was Alex’s favorite restaurant, no question—he loved the Thunderbird Grille. Even as his mother parked the Lexus, he could envision the meal before him: bacon and Swiss cheeseburger, sweet potato fries and a side of onion rings stacked up like a Christmas tree. To drink, he’d have Dr. Pepper. No reason to look at the menu. Instead, he’d scan the crowded restaurant for breasts—the bigger the better.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked his mother as the hostess led them to a window-side booth. He knew there had to be some ulterior reason for this pleasant surprise. If it were solely up to her, they’d be dining at some French restaurant where they jazz everything up with sprigs and twigs.
“Your birthday’s coming,” she said.
“Yeah, but not for ten more days.”
“We’ll call it a pre-birthday surprise. Sixteen’s a big one.”
A smiling brunette, probably no older than twenty, arrived to take their order. Her shirt was partially unbuttoned but didn’t reveal anything spectacular. Alex gave his order.
“Thanks,” the waitress said, turning to his mother. “And for you?”
His mother ordered an Asian sesame chicken salad and a glass of pinot something-or-other. She closed her menu then added, “Oh, and a glass of iced water with a lime twist.” Her face bore the weight of excess makeup, and her blond hair looked as if it was injected with vinyl. Not that Alex was any stellar prize. He was tall enough, nearly six feet, and his thick brown hair always generated a compliment from his hair stylist. If I had hair like yours, she invariably gushed. But, in a word, he was scrawny—all bones and angles. And if his smooth face was desirable to the opposite sex, he wouldn’t have known, because it looked too much like the face of his mother.
His eyes lowered to the waitress’s tight black pants and shapely butt as she gathered the menus and walked away. He looked back at his mother. “So this is for my birthday?”
“That’s right.” She unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap. “I also wanted to discuss something with you.”
“Oh no,” he said. “Here we go.”
“It’s not bad. It’s a good thing, really. Put your napkin on your lap.”
He looked out the window at a little boy and his father holding hands as they cut across the parking lot. “Go ahead, say what you want to say.” His napkin remained on the table.
“Well, as you know, I’m on the board of directors for several charitable organizations. One of these is Elder Spring. I’m sure I’ve told you about it.”
“Don’t think so.”
“It’s a very important cause—one that could really make a difference in society, especially in the lives of our senior citizens.”
“Yeah, so?”
“This program matches a single elderly person with a qualifying family.” She brought her hands together. “It has the makings of a revolutionary trend.”
The waitress arrived with their beverages.
“Thank you,” his mother said without looking up.
“Thanks,” Alex said, glancing back at the waitress’s shirt to see if she’d gotten any bigger since he placed his order.
His mother sipped her wine and did a kind of puckering thing with her lips. Then she gave a sideways smile indicating that the wine was marginally acceptable. “This program serves a real need for society. Think about it. There’s a vast number of people who aren’t well enough to live on their own, but they don’t need or want the services of a nursing home.” He could hear the timbre rising in her voice. She was onto one of her political kicks. Barring catastrophe, there’d be no stopping her until she had thoroughly exhausted the topic. He unwrapped his straw and slurped a third of his soda. Thank God for free refills, yet another reason he loved this place. His mother kept talking. “I received a call from my friend, Rebecca, who also sits on the board. She informed me that there’s a candidate, a brilliant man who comes from down South.”
“Okay, mom, what does all this have to do with us?”
“Please, Alex, let me finish. So this man—Lester Bray is his name—has agreed to come live with us on a trial basis.”
Alex felt the air sucking out of his ribcage. “Wo, wo!” He held up a hand like a stop sign. “You gotta be kidding.”
“This could be good for us,” she said. “And for him.”
“You’re totally nuts,” Alex said.
“I’m trying to do something positive for the family.”
“How’s bringing in some old fart gonna be good for our family?”
“He’s not what you think. He’s a bright African American man, a retired mechanical engineer from GE—”
“A black man,” Alex said. “That’s why you’re doing this. You want to look good in the eyes of all your peacenik friends.”
Despite the outer casing of makeup, her cheeks erupted into a pinkish red. “I will not have a racist living under my roof,” she said. “That’s not how I raised you.”
“Fine, I’ll move out. You and the old man can have the whole place to yourselves.” It was the second time in one day that he’d threatened to leave home. Life couldn’t be better.
The waitress arrived balancing a tray full of food. She placed the burger in front of Alex, the salad in front of his mother and the onion rings in the space between them. His mother, who looked poised for a tearful meltdown, slid out of the booth and briskly marched toward the bathroom. “Is she okay?” the waitress asked.
“Probably not,” he said. “But it’s not your fault.”
“I’ll bring you another Dr. Pepper.”
“Thanks, that’d be great.” Suddenly he felt that under the right circumstances he could fall in love with this girl, even if her breasts weren’t that big. She had a sweet personality, he could tell.
He was well into his burger and stack of rings when she returned and slid to the center of the booth. She spread her napkin across her lap and drank the last of her wine. “What about a homeless shelter?” he asked. “There’s plenty of black people there, no offense. You could bring them fancy meals and teach them the benefits of tofu and healthy living.”
“I will not stand for you patronizing me! You think you’ve grown up. Well, you haven’t! Not by a long shot.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His mother waved in the direction of the waitress and held up her empty glass. Looking back at him, she said, “Part of growing up, Alex, is to set a good example. That’s what we’ll be doing with Mr. Bray.”
Example for your résumé, he wanted to say. But his mouth was filled with scrumptious bacon cheeseburger. “Bullshit,” was all he managed.
THE WEEK between his mother’s big announcement and the arrival of Lester Bray passed without a word from Alex. Not that this was much of an achievement. He was an only child with a single mother. Silence was a way of life. He filled his time studying for finals or sketching—the one skill he knew he was good at, going all the way back to first grade. The ironic thing was that whenever someone came along and praised his work, he always screwed up, and not on purpose. It felt as if he was drawing exclusively for them and no longer from his own imagination. So he liked to draw alone, and he liked to draw whatever his brain conjured up at the moment.
But that wasn’t exactly true, because even though his mind was now riddled with images of old black men, he refused to put his imagined Mr. Bray to paper. He could hardly fathom the idea that such a being was actually coming to live in the room next to his. Worse—they’d be sharing the same bathroom.
The day had come. He peered out his second-story bedroom window and stared at a white van below. Its side door slid open, and out popped a woman. Not just any woman, but a brown-haired beauty, tall and dreamily proportioned, with a toothpaste commercial smile. He knew from his mother’s nonstop chatter that this was Rebecca, Mr. Bray’s caseworker. Alex couldn’t stop staring as she guided the old man safely from van to driveway. That’s when his mother bounded out of the house and shook everyone’s hand, including the driver of the van. The driver remained outside, smoking a cigarette, while Rebecca lugged a suitcase behind Lester and Alex’s mother.
Cadillac Chronicles